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SYLVIA 


By  Upton  Sinclair 


SYLVIA 

LOVE'S  PILGRIMAGE 

PLAYS  OF  PROTEST 

THE  FASTING  CURE 

THE  JUNGLE 

THE  INDUSTRIAL  REPUBLIC 

THE  METROPOLIS 

THE  MONEYCHANGERS 

SAMUEL  THE  SEEKER 

KING  MIDAS 

PRINCE  HAGEN 

THE  JOURNAL  OF  ARTHUR  STIRLING 

MANASSAS 

THE  OVERMAN 


SYLVIA 


A  NOVEL 


BV 
I 

UPTON  SINCLAIR 


THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA  CHICAGO 


Copyright,  1913.  by 
THB  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  Co. 


Published,  May  IS,  1913 

First  Printing.  April.  1913.    Second  Printing,  May.  1913 
Third  Printing,  May,  1913 


vs 

^ 


To 
THE  PEOPLE  AT  HOME 


470' 

IT 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

SYLVIA  LOVES 

BOOK  II 
SYLVIA  LINGERS 

BOOK  III 
SYLVIA  LOSES 277 


SYLVIA 


BOOK  I 


Sylvia  Loves 


§1 

THIS  is  the  story  of  Sylvia  Castleman,  of  her 
love  and  her  marriage.  The  story  goes  back  to 
the  days  of  her  golden  youth;  but  it  has  to  be 
told  by  an  old  woman  who  had  no  youth  at  all, 
and  who  never  dreamed  of  having  a  story  to 
tell.  It  begins  with  scenes  of  luxury  among  the 
proudest  aristocracy  of  the  South;  it  is  told  by 
one  who  for  the  first  thirty  years  of  her  life  was 
a  farmer's  wife  in  a  lonely  pioneer  homestead  in 
Manitoba,  and  who,  but  for  the  pictures  and  stories 
in  magazines,  would  never  have  known  that  such 
a  world  as  Sylvia  Castleman's  existed. 

Yet  I  believe  that  I  can  tell  her  story.  Eight 
years  of  it  I  lived  with  her,  so  intensely  that  it 
became  as  my  own  existence  to  me.  And  the 
rest  I  gathered  from  her  lips,  even  to  the  tiniest 
details.  For  years  I  went  about  my  daily  tasks 
with  Sylvia's  memories  as  a  kind  of  radiance 
about  me,  like  a  rainbow  that  shimmers  over  the 
head  of  a  plodding  traveler.  In  the  time  that 
I  knew  her,  I  never  came  to  the  end  of  her 
picturesque  adventures,  nor  did  I  ever  know 
what  it  was  to  be  bored  by  them.  The  incident 
might  be  commonplace — a  bit  of  a  flirtation, 
the  ordering  of  a"  costume,  the  blunder  of  a  negro 
servant;  but  it  was  always  Sylvia  who  was  telling 
it — there  was  always  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes,  the 

(ii) 


12  SYLVIA 

mischievous  smile,  the  swift  glow  of  her  counte 
nance.  And  as  the  story  progressed,  suddenly 
would  come  some  incident  so  wild  that  it  would 
make  you  catch  your  breath;  some  fantastic, 
incredible  extravagance;  some  strange,  quixotic 
trait  of  character.  You  would  find  yourself  face 
to  face  with  an  attitude  to  life  out  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  with  some  fierce,  vivid  passion  that  carried 
you  back  even  farther. 

What  a  world  it  is!  I  know  that  it  exists — 
for  Sylvia  took  me  home  with  her  twice.  I  saw 
the  Major  wearing  his  faded  gray  uniform  (it 
was  "Reunion  Day")  and  discoursing  upon  the 
therapeutic  qualities  of  "hot  toddies."  I  watched 
the  negro  boy  folding  and  unfolding  the  news 
paper,  because  Mrs.  Castleman  was  obeying  her 
physician  and  avoiding  unnecessary  exertion. 
I  shook  hands  with  Master  Castleman  Lysle, 
whose  names  were  reversed  by  special  decree  of 
the  state  legislature,  so  that  the  memory  of  his 
distinguished  ancestress  might  be  preserved  to 
posterity.  And  yet  it  will  always  seem  like  a 
fairy-story  world  to  me.  I  can  no  more  believe 
in  the  courtly  Bishop,  praying  over  my  unre 
pentant  head,  than  I  can  believe  in  Don  Quixote. 
As  for  "Uncle  Mandeville" — I  could  more  easily 
persuade  myself  that  I  once  talked  with  Pan 
Zagloba  in  the  flesh. 

I  have  Sylvia's  picture  on  my  desk — the  youth 
ful  picture  that  means  so  much  to  me,  with  its 
strange  mixture  of  coquetry  and  wistfulness,  of 
mischief  and  tenderness.  Downstairs  in  the 


SYLVIA  LOVES  13 

dining-room  is  the  portrait  of  Lady  Lyslc,  which 
is  so  much  like  her  that  strangers  always  mistook 
it.  And  if  that  be  not  enough,  now  and  then 
Elaine  steals  into  my  room,  and,  silent  as  a  shadow, 
takes  her  seat  upon  the  little  stool  beside  me, 
watching  me  with  her  sightless  eyes.  Her  fingers 
fly  swiftly  at  her  knitting,  and  for  hours,  if  need 
be,  she  moves  nothing  else.  She  knows  by  the 
sound  of  my  pen  that  I  am  busy;  with  the  wonder 
ful  acuteness  of  the  blind  she  knows  whether 
I  am  successful  or  not,  whether  what  I  write  be 
joyous  or  painful. 

How  much  she  knows — much  more  than  I 
dream,  perhaps!  I  wonder  about  it,  but  I  never 
ask  her.  Both  Frank  and  I  have  tried  to  talk 
to  her,  but  we  cannot;  it  is  cowardly,  pitiful, 
perhaps — but  we  cannot!  She  used  to  ask  ques 
tions  in  the  beginning,  but  she  must  have  felt 
our  pain,  for  she  asks  no  more ;  she  simply  haunts 
our  home,  the  incarnation  of  the  tragedy.  So 
much  of  her  mother  she  has — the  wonderful  red- 
brown  eyes,  the  golden  hair,  the  mobile,  delicate 
features.  But  the  sparkle  of  the  eyes  and  the 
glow  in  the  cheeks,  the  gaiety,  the  rapture — where 
are  they?  When  I  think  of  this,  I  clutch  my 
hands  in  a  sort  of  spasm,  and  gq  to  my  work 
again. 

Or  perhaps  I  go  into  Frank's  den  and  see  him 
sitting  there,  with  his  haggard,  brooding  face, 
his  hair  that  turned  gray  in  one  week.  He  never 
asks  the  question,  but  I  see  it  in  his  eyes:  "How 
much  have  you  done  to-day?"  A  cruel  task- 


14  SYLVIA 

master  is  that  face  of  Frank's!  He  is  haunted 
by  the  thought  that  I  may  not  live  to  finish  the 
story. 

The  ha'rdest  thing  of  all  will  be  to  make  you  see 
Sylvia  as  she  was  in  that  wild,  wonderful  youth 
of  hers,  when  she  was  the  belle  of  her  state,  when 
the  suitors  crowded  about  her  like  moths  about 
a  candle-flame.  How  shall  one  who  is  old  and 
full  of  bitter  memories  bring  back  the  magic 
spirit  of  youth,  the  glamor  and  the  glow  of  it, 
the  terrifying  blindness,  the  torrent-like  rush,  the 
sheer,  quivering  ecstasy  of  it? 

What  words  shall  I  choose  to  bring  before  you 
the  joyf ulness  of  Sylvia?  When  I  first  met  her 
she  was  twenty-six,  and  had  known  the  kind  of 
sorrow  that  eats  into  a  woman's  soul  as  acid 
might  eat  into  her  eyes;  and  yet  you  would  think 
she  had  never  been  touched  by  pain — she  moved 
through  life,  serene,  unflinching,  a  lamp  of  cheer 
fulness  to  every  soul  who  knew  her.  I  met  her 
and  proceeded  to  fall  hi  love  with  her  like  the 
veriest  schoolgirl;  I  would  go  away  and  think 
of  her,  and  clasp  my  hands  together  in  delight. 
There  was  one  word  that  kept  coming  to  me; 
I  would  repeat  it  over  and  over  again — " Happy! 
Happy!  Happy!"  She  was  the  happiest  soul 
that  I  have  ever  known  upon  the  earth;  a  veri 
table  fountain  of  joy. 

I  say  that  much;  and  then  I  hasten  to  correct 
it.  It  seems  to  be  easy  for  some  people  to  smile. 
There  comes  to  me  another  word  that  I  used 
to  find  myself  repeating  about  Sylvia.  She  was 


SYLVIA  LOVES  15 

wise!  She  was  wise!  She  was  wise  with  a 
strange,  uncanny  wisdom,  the  wisdom  of  ages 
upon  ages  of  womanhood — women  who  have 
been  mothers  and  counselors  and  homekeepers, 
but  above  all,  women  who  have  been  managers 
of  men!  Oh,  what  a  manager  of  men  was  Sylvia! 
For  the  most  part,  she  told  me,  she  managed  them 
for  their  own  good;  but  now  and  then  the  irresist 
ible  imp  of  mischievousness  broke  loose  in  her, 
and  then  she  managed  them  any  way  at  all,  so 
long  as  she  managed  them! 

Yet  that,  too,  does  her  less  than  justice,  I 
think.  For  you  might  search  all  over  the  states 
of  the  South,  where  she  lived  and  visited,  and 
where  now  they  mention  her  name  only  in  whis 
pers;  and  nowhere,  I  wager,  could  you  find  a 
man  who  had  ceased  to  love  her.  You  might 
find  hundreds  who  would  wish  to  God  that  she 
were  alive  again,  so  that  they  might  run  away 
with  her.  For  that  is  the  third  thing  to  be  noted 
about  Sylvia  Castleman — that  she  was  good. 
She  was  so  good  that  when  you  knew  her  you 
went  down  upon  your  knees  before  her,  and  never 
got  up  again.  How  many  times  I  have  seen  the 
tears  start  into  her  eyes  over  the  memory  of  what 
the  imp  of  mischievousness  and  the  genius  of 
management  had  made  her  do  to  men!  How 
many  times  have  I  heard  her  laughter,  as  she 
told  how  she  broke  their  hearts,  and  then  used 
her  tears  for  cement  to  patch  them  up  again! 


16  SYLVIA 

§2 

I  REALIZE  that  I  must  make  some  effort  to  tell 
you  how  she  looked.  But  when  I  think  of  words 
— how  futile,  stale  and  shopworn  seem  all  the 
words  that  come  to  me.  In  my  early  days  my 
one  recreation  was  cheap  paper-covered  novels 
and  historical  romances,  from  which  I  got  my 
idea  of  the  grand  monde.  Now,  when  I  try  to 
think  of  words  with  which  to  describe  Sylvia, 
it  is  their  words  that  come  to  me.  I  know  that 
a  heroine  must  be  slender  and  exquisite,  must 
be  sensitive  and  haughty  and  aristocratic.  Sylvia 
was  all  this,  in  truth;  but  how  shall  I  bring  to 
you  the  thrill  of  wonder  that  came  to  me  when 
I  encountered  her — that  living  joy  she  was  to 
me  forever  after,  so  different  from  anything  the 
books  had  ever  brought  me! 

She  was  tall  and  very  straight,  free  in  her 
carriage;  her  look,  her  whole  aspect  was  quick 
and  eager.  I  sit  and  try  to  analyze  her  charm, 
and  I  think  the  first  quality  was  the  sense  she 
gave  you  of  cleanness.  I  lived  with  her  much; 
I  saw  her,  not  merely  made  up  for  parties,  but 
as  she  opened  her  eyes  in  the  morning;  and  I 
cannot  recall  that  I  ever  saw  about  her  any  of 
those  things  that  offend  us  in  the  body.  Her 
eyes  were  always  clear,  her  skin  always  fair;  I 
never  saw  her  with  a  cold,  or  heard  her  speak  of 
a  headache.  If  she  were  tired,  she  would  not 
tell  you  so — at  least,  not  if  she  thought  you  needed 
her.  If  there  was  anything  the  matter  with  her, 


SYLVIA  LOVES  17 

there  was  only  one  way  you  found  it  out — that 
she  stopped  eating. 

She  would  do  that  at  home,  when  someone 
was  ill  and  she  was  under  a  strain.  She  would 
literally  fade  away  before  your  eyes — but  still 
just  as  cheerful  and  brave,  laughing  at  the  pro 
tests  of  the  doctors,  the  outcries  of  her  aunts 
and  her  colored  "aunties."  At  such  times  she 
had  a  quite  new  kind  of  beauty,  that  seemed  to 
strike  men  dumb;  she  used  to  make  merry  over 
it,  saying  that  she  could  go  out  when  other 
women  had  to  shut  themselves  behind  curtains. 
For  thinness  brought  out  every  line  of  her  ex 
quisitely  chiseled  features;  every  quiver  of  her 
soul  seemed  to  show — her  tense,  swift  being  was 
as  if  cut  there  in  living  marble,  and  she  was  some 
unearthly  creature,  wraith-like,  wonderful,  thrill 
ing.  There  were  poets  in  Castleman  County; 
they  would  meet  her  in  this  depleted  state,  and 
behave  after  the  fashion  of  poets  in  semi-tropical 
climates — stand  with  their  knees  knocking  and 
the  perspiration  oozing  out  upon  their  foreheads; 
they  would  wander  off  by  moonlight-haunted 
streams  and  compose  enraptured  verses,  and  come 
back  and  fall  upon  their  knees  and  implore  her 
to  accept  the  poor,  feeble  tribute  of  their  adoration. 

I  have  seen  her,  too,  when  she  was  strong  and 
happy,  and  then  she  would  be  well-made  and 
shapely,  with  a  charm  of  a  more  earthly  sort. 
Then  her  color  would  be  like  the  roses  she  always 
carried;  and  in  each  of  her  cheeks  would  appear 
the  most  adorable  of  dimples,  and  under  her  chin 


18  SYLVIA 

another.  She  had  a  nose  that  was  very  straight 
and  finely  carved;  and  right  in  the  center,  under 
the  tip,  the  sculptor  had  put  a  tiny  little  groove. 
She  had  also  a  chin  that  was  very  straight,  and 
right  in  the  center  of  this  was  a  corresponding 
little  groove.  You  will  laugh  perhaps;  but  those 
touches  added  marvelously  to  the  expressiveness 
of  her  countenance.  How  they  would  shift  and 
change  when,  for  instance,  her  nostrils  quivered 
with  anger,  or  when  the  imp  of  mischievousness 
took  possession  of  her,  and  the  network  of  quaint 
wrinkles  gathered  round  her  eyes! 

Dimples,  I  know,  are  an  ultra-feminine  prop 
erty;  but  Sylvia's  face  was  not  what  is  ordinarily 
called  feminine — it  was  a  kind  of  face  that  paint 
ers  would  give  to  a  young  boy  singing  in  a  church. 
I  used  to  tell  her  that  it  was  the  kind  they  gave 
to  angels  of  the  higher  orders;  whereupon  she 
would  put  her  arms  about  me  and  whisper,  "You 
old  goose!"  She  had  a  pair  of  the  strangest  red- 
brown  eyes,  soft  and  tender;  and  then  suddenly 
lighting  up — shining,  shining! 

I  don't  know  if  I  make  you  see  her.  I  can 
add  only  one  detail  more,  the  one  that  people 
talked  of  most — her  hair.  You  may  see  her  hair, 
very  beautifully  done,  in  the  portrait  of  Lady 
Lysle.  The  artist  was  shrewd  and  put  the  great 
lady  in  a  morning  robe,  standing  by  the  open 
window,  the  sunlight  falling  upon  a  cascade  of 
golden  tresses.  The  color  of  Sylvia's  hair  was 
toned  down  when  I  knew  her,  but  they  told  me 
that  in  her  prime  it  had  been  vivid  to  out- 


SYLVIA   LOVES  19 

rageousness.  I  sit  before  the  painting,  and  the 
present  slips  away  and  I  see  her  as  she  was  in 
the  glow  of  her  youth — eager,  impetuous,  swept 
with  gusts  of  merriment  and  tenderness,  like  a 
mountain  lake  in  April. 

So  the  old  chroniclers  report  her,  nine  genera 
tions  back,  when  she  came  over  to  marry  the 
Governor  of  Massachusetts!  They  have  her 
wedding  gown  preserved  in  a  Boston  Museum, 
and  the  Lysles  have  a  copy  of  it,  so  that  each 
generation  can  be  married  in  one  like  it.  But 
Sylvia  was  the  first  it  became,  being  the  first 
blonde  since  her  great  progenitor.  How  strange 
seems  such  a  whim  of  heredity — not  merely  the 
color  of  the  hair  and  eyes,  the  cut  of  the  features, 
but  a  whole  character,  a  personality  hidden  away 
somewhere  in  the  germ-plasm,  and  suddenly 
breaking  out,  without  warning,  after  a  couple 
of  hundred  years! 


§3 

WHEN  I  think  of  Sylvia's  childhood  and  all  the 
hairbreadth  escapes  of  which  she  told  me,  I  mar 
vel  that  she  ever  came  to  womanhood.  It  would 
seem  to  be  a  perilous  part  of  the  world  to  raise 
children  in,  with  horses  and  dogs  and  guns,  and 
so  many  half-tamed  negroes — to  say  nothing  of 
all  the  half-tamed  white  people.  Sylvia  had 
three  younger  sisters  and  whole  troops  of  cousins 
— the  Bishop's  eleven  children,  and  the  children 


20  SYLVIA 

of  Barry  Chilton,  his  brother.  I  picture  their 
existence  as  one  long  series  of  perilous  escapes, 
with  runaway  horses,  kicking  mules  and  biting 
dogs,  and  negroes  who  shot  and  stabbed  one 
another  in  sudden,  ferocious  brawls,  or  set  fire 
to  Castleman  Hall  hi  order  that  some  other  negro 
might  be  suspected  and  lynched. 

Also  there  were  the  more  subtle  perils  of  the 
pantry  and  the  green-apple  orchard.  I  did  not 
see  any  accident  during  my  brief  stay  at  the 
place,  but  I  saw  the  dietetic  ferocities  of  the 
family  and  marveled  at  them.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  the  life  of  that  most  precious  of  infants, 
Castleman  Lysle,  was  one  endless  succession  of 
adventures  with  mustard  and  ipecac  and  castor 
oil.  I  want  somehow  to  make  you  realize  this 
world  of  Sylvia's,  and  I  don't  know  how  I  can 
do  it  better  than  by  telling  of  my  first  vision  of 
that  future  heir  of  all  the  might,  majesty  and 
dominion  of  the  Lysles.  It  was  one  of  the  rare 
occasions  when  the  Major  was  taking  him  on  a 
journey.  The  old  family  horses  were  hitched  to 
the  old  family  carriage,  and  with  a  negro  on  the 
box,  another  walking  at  the  horses'  heads,  a  third 
riding  on  a  mule  behind,  and  a  fourth  sent  ahead 
to  notify  the  police,  the  procession  set  forth  to 
the  station.  I  know  quite  well  that  I  shall  be 
called  a  liar;  yet  I  can  only  give  my  solemn 
word  that  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes — the  chief 
of  police,  duly  notified,  had  informed  all  the 
officers  on  duty,  and  the  population  of  a  bustling 
town  of  forty  thousand  inhabitants,  in  the  United 


SYLVIA  LOVES  21 

States  of  America  in  the  twentieth  century,  were 
politely  requested  not  to  drive  automobiles  along 
the  principal  avenue  during  the  half-hour  that 
it  took  to  convey  Master  Lysle  to  the  train! 
And  of  course  such  a  "request"  was  a  command 
to  all  the  inhabitants  who  were  genteel  enough 
to  own  automobiles.  Was  not  this  the  grandson 
of  the  late  General  Castleman,  the  grand-nephew 
of  a  former  territorial  governor?  Was  he  not 
the  heir  of  the  largest,  the  oldest  and  the  most 
famous  plantation  in  the  county,  the  future  dis 
penser  of  favors  and  arbiter  of  social  fates?  Was 
he  not,  incidentally,  the  brother  of  the  loveliest 
girl  hi  the  state,  to  whom  most  of  the  automobile 
owners  in  the  town  had  made  violent  love? 

I  would  like  to  tell  more  about  that  world  and 
Sylvia's  experiences  in  it — some  of  those  amazing 
tales!  Of  the  negro  boy  who  bit  a  piece  out 
of  the  baby's  leg,  because  he  had  heard  someone 
say  that  the  baby  looked  sweet  enough  to  eat; 
of  the  negro  girl  who  heard  a  war-story  about 
"a  train  of  gun-powder,"  and  proceeded  with 
Sylvia's  aid  to  lay  such  a  train  from  the  cellar 
to  the  attic  of  the  house.  I  would  like  to  tell 
the  whole  story  of  her  girlhood,  and  the  strange 
ideas  they  taught  her;  but  I  have  to  pick  and 
choose,  saving  my  space  for  the  things  that  are 
necessary  to  the  understanding  of  her  character. 

Sylvia's  education  was  a  decidedly  miscellaneous 
one  at  first.  "I  think  it  is  time  the  child  had 
some  regular  training,"  her  great-aunt,  Lady 
Dee,  would  say  to  the  child's  mother.  "Yes, 


22  SYLVIA 

I  suppose  you  are  right,"  would  be  the  answer. 
But  then  Lady  Dee  would  go,  and  Major  Castle- 
man  would  come  in,  observing,  "It's  marvelous 
the  way  that  child  picks  things  up,  Miss  Mar 
garet."  (A  habit  from  his  courtship  days,  you 
understand.)  "We  must  be  careful  not  to  over- 
stimulate  her  mind."  To  which  his  wife  would 
respond,  agreeably,  "I'm  sure  you  know  best, 
Mr.  Castleman." 

Every  morning  Sylvia  would  go  with  her  father 
on  his  rounds  to  interview  the  managers  of  the 
three  plantations;  the  Major  in  his  black  broad 
cloth  frock-coat,  a  wide  black  hat  and  a  white 
"bosom"  shirt,  riding  horseback  with  an  umbrella 
over  his  head,  and  followed  at  a  respectful  dis 
tance  by  his  "boy"  upon  a  mule.  On  these 
excursions  Sylvia  would  recite  the  multiplication 
table,  and  receive  lessons  hi  the  history  of  her 
country,  from  the  point  of  view  of  its  unrecon 
structed-minority.  Also  she  had  lessons  on  this 
subject  from  her  great-aunt,  who  never  paid  one 
of  her  numerous  servants  their  small  quarterly 
stipend  that  she  did  not  exclaim:  "Oh,  how  I 
hate  the  Yankees!" 

I  must  not  delay  to  introduce  this  great-aunt, 
who  was  Sylvia's  monitress  in  the  arts  and  graces 
of  life,  and  left  her  on  her  death-bed  such  a  curious 
heritage  of  worldiness.  Lady  Dee  was  the  last 
surviving  member  of  a  younger  branch  of  the 
line  of  the  Lysles.  She  was  not  a  real  countess, 
like  her  great  ancestress;  the  name  "Lady"  had 
been  given  her  in  baptism.  Early  in  the  last 


SYLVIA   LOVES  23 

century  she  had  come  over  the  mountains  in  a 
lumbering  coach,  with  an  escort  of  mounted 
riders,  to  marry  the  Surveyor  General  of  the 
Territory.  She  still  had  a  picture  of  this  coach, 
along  with  innumerable  other  treasures  in  cedar 
chests  in  her  attic:  fan-sticks  of  carved  ivory, 
inlaid  with  gold;  gold  garter  buckles  with  wonder 
ful  enameling;  old  seals  and  silver  snuff-boxes; 
rare  jewels,  such  as  white  topazes  and  red 
amethysts;  and  a  whole  trunkful  of  the  curious 
tiny  silk  parasols  with  which  great  ladies  used 
to  protect  their  creamy  complexions — no  more 
than  ten  inches  across,  and  with  handles  of 
inlaid  and  carven  ivory.  When  Sylvia  was  a 
little  girl  with  two  pigtails  hanging  down  her 
back,  it  was  one  of  the  joys  of  her  life  to  explore 
these  treasures,  and  deck  herself  in  faded  ball 
costumes  and  chains  of  jewels  and  gold. 

Also,  from  Lady  Dee  she  received  contributions 
to  her  moral  training;  not  in  set  discourses,  but 
incidentally  and  by  allusions.  Rummaging  in 
the  cedar  chests  she  once  came  upon  a  miniature 
which  she  had  never  seen  before ;  a  lady  in  whom 
she  recognized  the  eyes  of  the  Lysles,  and  the 
arrogance  which  all  their  portraits  show.  "Who 
is  this,  Aunt  Lady?"  she  asked;  and  the  old 
gentlewoman  frowned  and  answered,  "We  never 
speak  of  her,  my  dear.  She  is  the  one  woman 
who  ever  disgraced  our  name." 

Sylvia  hesitated  a  long  time  before  she  spoke 
again.  She  had  heard  much  of  family  skeletons 
in  the  table-talk — but  always  other  families. 
"What  did  she  do?"  she  asked,  at  last. 


24  SYLVIA 

"She  was  married  to  three  men,"  was  the 
reply, 

Again  Sylvia  hesitated.  "You  mean,"  she 
ventured — "you  mean — at  the  same  time?" 

Lady  Dee  stared.  "No,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
gravely.  "Her  husbands  died." 

"But — but — "  began  the  other,  timidly,  grop 
ing  to  find  her  way  m  a  strange  field  of  thought. 

"If  she  had  been  a  woman  of  delicacy,"  pro 
nounced  Lady  Dee,  "she  would  have  been  true 
to  one  love."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  added, 
solemnly,  "Remember  this,  my  child.  Think 
before  you  choose,  for  the  women  of  our  family 
are  like  Sterne's  starling — when  they  have  once 
entered  their  cage,  they  never  come  out." 

It  was  Lady  Dee  who  objected  to  the  desultory- 
nature  of  Sylvia's  education,  and  began  a  cam 
paign,  as  a  result  of  which  the  Major  sent  her  off 
to  a  "college"  at  the  age  of  thirteen.  You  must 
not  be  frightened  by  this  imposing  statement, 
for  it  is  easy  to  call  yourself  a  "college"  in  the 
South.  Sylvia  was  away  for  three  years,  during 
which  she  really  studied,  and  acquired  much  more 
than  the  usual  accomplishments  of  a  young  lady. 

She  had  an  extraordinarily  capable  mind;  serene 
and  efficient,  like  everything  else  about  her. 
When  I  met  her  I  was  a  woman  of  forty-five, 
who  a  few  years  before  had  broken  with  my 
whole  past,  having  discovered  the  universe  of 
knowledge.  I  had  been  like  a  starving  person 
breaking  into  a  well-filled  larder,  and  stuffing 
myself  greedily  and  promiscuously.  I  had  taken 


SYLVIA  LOVES  25 

upon  myself  the  task  of  contending  with  other 
people's  prejudices,  and  my  rapture  over  Sylvia 
Castleman  was  partly  the  realization  that  here 
was  a  woman — actually  a  woman — who  had  no 
prejudices  whatever.  She  wanted  me  to  tell 
her  all  I  knew;  and  it  was  a  great  delight  to 
expound  to  her  a  new  set  of  ideas,  and  see  her 
mind  go  from  point  to  point,  leaping  swiftly,  lay 
ing  hold  of  details,  ordering,  comparing — above 
all,  applying.  That  you  may  have  a  picture  of 
this  mind  in  action,  let  me  tell  you  what  she  did 
in  her  girlhood,  all  unassisted — how  she  broke 
with  the  religion  of  her  forefathers. 


§4 

THAT  brings  me  to  the  Bishop,  Basil  Chilton, 
who  had  come  into  the  family  by  marriage  to 
one  of  Sylvia's  aunts.  At  the  time  of  his  marriage 
he  had  been  a  young  Louisiana  planter,  handsome 
and  fascinating.  He  had  met  Nannie  Castleman 
at  a  ball,  and  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  had 
secured  her  promise  to  marry  him  before  sunset. 
People  said  that  he  was  half  drunk  at  the  time, 
and  this  was  probably  a  moderate  estimate,  for 
he  had  been  wholly  drunk  for  a  year  or  two 
afterwards.  Then  he  had  shot  a  man  in  a  brawl 
and,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  a  gentleman, 
had  almost  been  punished  for  it.  The  peril  had 
sobered  him;  a  month  or  two  later,  at  a  Metho- 


26  SYLVIA 

dist  revival,  he  was  converted,  made  a  sensational 
confession  of  his  sins,  and  then,  to  the  horror 
of  his  friends,  became  a  preacher  of  Methodism. 

To  the  Castlemans  this  was  a  calamity — to 
Lady  Dee  a  personal  affront.  "Whoever  heard 
of  a  gentleman  who  was  a  Methodist?"  she  de 
manded;  and  as  the  convert  had  no  precedents 
to  cite,  she  quarreled  with  him  and  for  many 
years  never  spoke  his  name.  Also  it  was  hard 
upon  Nannie  Castleman — who  had  entered  her 
cage  and  had  to  stay!  They  had  compromised 
on  the  bargain  that  the  children  were  to  be 
brought  up  in  her  own  faith,  which  was  Very 
High  Church.  So  now  the  unhappy  preacher, 
later  Bishop,  sat  in  his  study  and  wrote  his  ser 
mons,  while  one  by  one  his  eleven  children  came 
of  age,  and  danced  and  gambled  and  drank  them 
selves  to  perdition  in  the  very  best  form  imagin 
able.  When  I  met  the  family,  the  last  of  the 
daughters,  Caroline,  was  just  making  her  debut, 
and  her  mother,  nearly  sixty,  was  the  gayest 
dancer  on  the  floor.  It  was  the  joke  of  the 
county,  how  the  family  automobile  would  first 
take  the  Bishop  to  prayer  meeting,  and  then  return 
to  take  the  mother  and  the  chilolren  to  a  ball. 

Basil  Chilton  looked  like  an  old-world  diplomat, 
as  I  had  come  to  conceive  that  personage  from 
reading  novels.  He  had  the  most  charming 
manners — the  kind  of  manners  which  cannot  be 
cultivated,  but  come  from  nobility  of  soul.  He 
was  gentle  and  gracious  even  to  servants;  and 
yet  imposing,  with  his  stately  figure  and  smooth, 


SYLVIA  LOVES  27 

ascetic  face,  lined  by  care.  He  lived  just  a  pony- 
ride  from  Castleman  Hall,  and  almost  every 
morning  during  vacations  Sylvia  would  stop  and 
spend  a  little  while  with  him.  People  said  that 
he  loved  her  more  than  any  of  his  own  children. 

So  you  can  imagine  what  it  meant  when  one 
day  the  girl  said  to  him,  "Uncle  Basil,  I  have 
something  to  tell  you.  I've  been  thinking  about 
it,  and  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  I  don't  believe 
in  either  heaven  or  hell." 

Where  had  she  got  such  an  idea?  She  had 
certainly  not  learned  it  at  the  "college,"  for  the 
institution  was  "denominational"  and  had  no 
text-books  of  later  date  than  1850.  Somewhere 
she  had  found  a  volume  of  Huxley's  "Lay  Ser 
mons,"  but  she  had  got  nothing  out  of  that,  for 
the  Major  had  discovered  her  reading  page  three, 
and  had  solemnly  consigned  the  book  to  the 
flames.  No,  it  was  simply  that  she  had  been 
thinking  for  herself. 

The  Bishop  took  it  well.  He  did  not  try 
to  frighten  her,  he  did  not  even  show  her  his 
distress  of  mind.  He  told  her  that  she  was  an 
angel,  the  very  soul  of  purity  and  goodness,  and 
that  God  would  surely  lead  her  to  truth  if  only 
she  kept  herself  humble.  As  Sylvia  put  it  to  me: 
"He  knew  that  I  would  come  back,  and  I  knew 
that  I  would  never  come  back." 

And  that  was  the  situation  between  them  to 
the  very  end — the  bitter  end.  He  always  believed 
that  she  would  learn  to  see  things  as  he  saw 
them.  He  died  a  year  or  so  ago,  the  courtly 


28  SYLVIA 

old  gentleman — consoled  by  the  thought  that  he 
was  now  to  meet  his  God  and  Sylvia  face  to  face, 
and  hear  the  former  explain  to  the  latter  the 
difference  between  Divine  Law  and  mere  human 
ideas  of  Justice. 

The  rest  of  the  family  were  not  so  patient 
as  the  Bishop.  To  have  a  heretic  in  the  house 
hold  was  even  worse  than  having  a  Methodist! 
Mrs.  Castleman,  who  agreed  with  the  Bible  as 
she  agreed  with  everything,  was  dumb  with 
bewilderment;  while  the  Major  set  to  work  to 
hunt  out  dusty  volumes  from  the  attic.  He  read 
every  word  of  Paley's  " Evidences"  aloud  to  his 
daughter,  and  some  of  Gladstone's  essays,  and 
several  other  books,  the  very  names  of  which 
she  forgot.  You  may  smile  at  this  picture,  but 
it  was  a  serious  matter  to  the  Castlemans,  who 
had  based  their  morality  upon  the  fear  of  fire 
and  brimstone  and  the  weeping  and  gnashing  of 
teeth,  and  who  kept  Sylvia  three  months  from 
school  to  impress  such  images  upon  her  imagi 
nation. 

There  were  several  religious  sects  represented 
in  the  county.  These  were  generally  at  war  with 
one  another,  but  they  all  made  common  cause 
in  this  emergency,  and  committees  of  old  ladies 
from  the  "Christians,"  the  "hard-shell  Baptists," 
the  "predestination  Presbyterians,"  would  come 
to  condole  with  "Miss  Margaret,"  and  would 
kneel  down  in  the  parlor  with  Sylvia  and  pray 
for  her  salvation,  shedding  tears  over  the  cream 
velour  upholstery  of  the  hand-carved  mahogany 


SYLVIA  LOVES  29 

sofas.  A  distant  cousin  who  was  "in  orders," 
a  young  gentleman  of  charming  presence  and 
special  training  in  dialectics,  was  called  in  to 
answer  the  arguments  of  this  wayward  young 
lady,  and  stayed  for  three  days,  probing  deeply 
into  his  patient's  mind — not  merely  her  theological 
beliefs,  but  the  attitude  to  life  which  underlay 
them.  When  he  had  finished  he  said  to  her, 
"My  dear  Sylvia,  it  is  my  opinion  that  you  are 
the  most  dangerous  person  hi  this  county."  She 
told  me  the  story,  and  added,  "I  hadn't  the 
remotest  idea  what  the  man  meant!"  But  I 
answered  her  that  he  had  been  perfectly  right. 
In  truth,  he  was  a  seer,  that  young  clergyman! 


§5 

THERE  was  a  general  feeling  that  Sylvia  had 
learned  more  than  was  good  for  her;  and  so  the 
family  made  inquiries,  and  selected  the  most 
exclusive  and  expensive  "finishing  school"  in 
New  York,  for  the  purpose  of  putting  a  stop  to 
her  intellectual  development.  And  so  we  come 
to  the  beginning  of  Sylvia's  wordly  career,  and  to 
the  visit  she  paid  to  Lady  Dee — who  now,  at  the 
age  of  ninety,  felt  herself  failing  rapidly,  and  wished 
to  leave  to  her  great-niece  her  treasures  of  worldly 
counsel. 

Lady  Dee  was  one  of  those  quaint  figures  you 
meet  in  the  South,  who  go  to  balls  and  parties 


30  SYLVIA 

wnen  they  are  old  enough  to  be  sewing  the  layettes 
of  their  great-grandchildren.  I  have  seen  a  pic 
ture  of  her  at  the  age  of  eighty-five,  in  a  cerise- 
colored  silk  ball-gown  with  a  lace  "  bertha,"  her 
white  hair  curled  in  front  and  done  in  a  pile  with 
a  coronet  of  diamonds.  You  must  imagine  her 
now,  in  an  invalid's  chair  upon  the  gallery,  but  still 
with  her  hair  dressed  as  of  old;  telling  to  Sylvia 
tales  of  her  own  young  ladyhood — and  incident 
ally,  with  such  deftness  that  the  girl  never  guessed 
her  purpose,  introducing  instruction  in  the  strategy 
and  tactics  of  the  sex  war. 

Life  was  short,  according  to  Lady  Dee,  and  the 
future  was  uncertain.  A  woman  bloomed  but 
once,  and  must  make  the  most  of  that.  To  be 
the  center  of  events  during  her  hour,  that  was 
life's  purpose;  and  to  achieve  it,  it  was  necessary 
to  know  how  to  hold  men.  Men  were  sometimes 
said  to  be  strange  and  difficult  creatures,  but  in 
reality  they  were  simple  and  easily  handled.  The 
trouble  was  that  most  women  went  blindly  at 
the  task,  instead  of  availing  themselves  of  the 
wisdom  which  their  sex  had  been  storing  up  for 
ages,  in  the  minds  of  such  authorities  as  Lady  Dee. 

The  old  lady  went  on  to  expound  the  science 
of  coquetry.  I  had  read  of  the  sex  game,  as  it 
is  played  in  the  grand  monde,  but  I  had  never  sup 
posed  that  the  players  were  as  conscious  and 
deliberate  as  this  veteran  expert.  She  even  used 
the  language  of  battle:  "A  woman's  shield,  my 
child,  is  her  innocence;  her  sharpest  weapon  is 
her  naivete.  The  way  to  disarm  a  man's  sus- 


SYLVIA   LOVES  31 

picions  is  to  tell  him  what  you're  doing  to  him — 
then  you're  sure  he  won't  believe  it!" 

She  would  go  into  minute  details  of  these  Ama 
zonian  arts:  how  to  beguile  a  man,  how  to  promise 
to  many  him  without  really  promising,  how  to 
keep  him  at  the  proper  temperature  by  judicious 
applications  of  jealousy.  Nor  was  this  sex  war 
to  stop  after  the  wedding  ceremony — when  most 
women  foolishly  laid  down  their  weapons.  A 
woman  must  sleep  in  her  armor,  according  to 
Lady  Dee.  She  must  never  let  her  husband 
know  how  much  she  loved  him,  she  must  make 
him  think  of  her  as  something  rare  and  unattain 
able,  she  must  keep  him  in  a  state  where  her 
smile  was  the  greatest  thing  hi  life  to  him.  Said 
the  old  lady,  gravely:  "The  women  of  our  family 
are  famous  for  henpecking  their  husbands — they 
don't  even  take  the  trouble  to  hide  it.  I've 
heard  your  grandfather,  the  General,  say  that 
it  was  all  right  for  a  man  to  be  henpecked,  if 
only  it  was  by  the  right  hen." 

A  training,  you  perceive,  of  a  decidedly  worldly 
character;  and  yet  there  was  nothing  upon  which 
Sylvia's  relatives  laid  more  stress  than  the  pre 
serving  of  what  they  called  her  "innocence." 
There  were  wild  people  in  this  part  of  the  world — 
high-spirited  and  hot-tempered,  hard  drinkers 
and  fast  livers;  there  were  deeds  of  violence, 
and  strange  and  terrible  tales  that  you  might 
hear.  But  when  these  tales  had  anything  to  do 
with  sex,  they  were  carefully  kept  from  Sylvia's 
ears.  Only  once  had  this  rule  been  broken — an 


32  SYLVIA 

occasion  which  made  a  great  impression  upon  the 
child.  The  daughter  of  one  of  the  neighboring 
families  had  eloped,  and  the  dreadful  rumor  was 
whispered  that  she  had  traveled  in  a  sleeping-car 
with  the  man,  and  been  married  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  instead  of  at  the  beginning. 

And  there  was  Uncle  Mandeville,  the  youngest 
of  the  Major's  brothers — half  drunk,  though 
Sylvia  did  not  know  it — pacing  the  veranda  and 
discussing  the  offending  bridegroom.  "He  should 
have  been  shot !"  cried  Mandeville.  "The  damned 
scoundrel,  he  should  have  been  shot  like  a  dog!" 
And  suddenly  he  paused  before  the  startled  child. 
He  was  a  giant  of  a  man,  and  his  voice  had  the 
power  of  a  church-organ.  He  placed  his  hands 
upon  Sylvia's  shoulders,  pronouncing  in  solemn 
tones,  "Little  girl,  I  want  you  to  know  that 
I  will  protect  the  honor  of  the  women  of  our 
family  with  my  life!  Do  you  understand  me, 
little  girl?" 

And  Sylvia,  awestricken,  answered,  "Yes,  Uncle 
Mandeville."  The  worthy  gentleman  was  so 
much  moved  by  his  own  nobility  and  courage  that 
the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes;  he  went  on,  melo 
dramatically,  "With  my  life!  With  my  life! 
And  remember  the  boast  of  the  Castlemans — 
that  there  was  never  a  man  in  our  family  who 
broke  his  word,  nor  a  woman  with  a  stain  upon 
her  name!" 

That  had  been  in  Sylvia's  childhood.  But 
now  she  was  a  young  lady,  about  to  start  for  the 
metropolis,  and  the  family  judged  that  the  time 


SYLVIA  LOVES  38 

had  come  for  her  to  be  instructed  in  some  of  these 
delicate  matters.  There  had  been  consultations 
between  her  mother  and  aunts,  in  which  the 
former  had  been  prodded  on  to  the  performing 
of  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  all  maternal  duties. 
Sylvia  remembered  the  occasion  vividly,  for  her 
mother's  agitation  was  painful  to  witness;  she 
led  the  girl  solemnly  into  a  darkened  room,  and 
casting  down  her  eyes,  as  it  she  were  confessing 
a  crime,  she  said: 

"My  child,  you  will  probably  hear  evil-minded 
girls  talking  of  things  of  which  my  little  daughter 
has  never  heard.  When  these  things  are  dis 
cussed,  I  want  you  to  withdraw  quietly  from  the 
company.  You  should  remain  away  until  vulgar 
topics  have  been  dismissed  from  the  conversa 
tion.  I  want  your  promise  to  do  this,  my 
daughter." 

Her  mother's  sense  of  shame  had  communi 
cated  itself  to  Sylvia.  At  first  she  had  been 
staring  wonderingly,  but  now  she  cast  down  her 
own  eyes.  She  gave  the  desired  promise;  and 
that  was  all  the  education  concerning  sex  that 
she  had  during  her  girlhood.  This  experience 
determined  her  attitude  for  many  years — a  min 
gling  of  shame  and  fear.  The  time  had  come  for 
her  to  face  the  facts  of  her  own  physical  develop 
ment,  and  she  did  so  with  agony  of  soul,  and  in 
her  ignorance  came  near  to  injuring  her  bodily 
health. 

Also,  the  talk  had  another  consequence,  over 
which  Mrs.  Castleman  would  have  been  sorely 


34  SYLVIA 

distressed  had  she  known  it.  Though  the  girl 
tried  her  best,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  avoid 
hearing  some  of  the  " vulgar"  conversation  of  the 
very  sophisticated  young  ladies  at  the  "finishing 
school."  In  spite  of  herself,  she  learned  some 
thing  of  what  sex  and  marriage  meant — enough 
to  make  her  flesh  creep  and  her  cheeks  burn  with 
horror  and  disgust.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she 
could  no  longer  bear  to  meet  and  talk  to  men. 
When  she  came  home  for  the  Christmas  holidays 
and  discovered  that  her  mother  was  expecting  a 
child,  the  thought  of  what  this  meant  filled  her 
with  shame  for  both  her  parents;  she  wondered 
how  they  could  expect  a  pure-minded  girl  to  love 
them,  when  they  had  so  degraded  themselves. 
So  intense  was  this  impression  that  it  continued 
over  the  Easter  vacation,  when  she  returned  to 
find  the  house  hi  possession  of  the  new  heir  of 
all  the  might,  majesty  and  dominion  of  the 
Lysles. 


§6 

Miss  ABERCROMBIE'S  "finishing  school"  was 
located  on  Fifth  Avenue,  immediately  opposite — 
so  the  catalogue  informed  you — to  the  mansions 
of  the  oldest  Knickerbocker  families.  It  was 
Miss  Abercrombie's  boast  that  she  had  married 
more  than  half  her  young  ladies  to  millionaires, 
and  she  took  occasion  to  drop  allusions  to  the 
subject  to  all  whom  it  might  interest.  She  ran 


SYLVIA   LOVES  35 

her  establishment  upon  an  ingenious  plan,  about 
half  her  pupils  being  the  daughters  of  Western 
buccaneers,  who  paid  high  prices,  and  the  other 
half  being  the  daughters  of  Southern  aristocrats, 
accepted  at  reduced  rates.  So  the  young  ladies 
from  the  West  got  the  "real  thing"  in  refinement, 
and  the  young  ladies  from  the  South  made  ac 
quaintances  whose  brothers  were  "eligible." 

Sylvia  had  always  had  everything  that  she 
wanted,  and  was  under  the  impression  that  im 
mense  sums  of  money  had  been  spent  upon  her 
upbringing.  But  among  these  new  associates  she 
found  herself  in  the  class  of  the  poorest.  She 
had  never  owned  a  dress  which  they  would  con 
sider  expensive,  whereas  the  dresses  of  these  girls 
were  trimmed  with  real  lace,  and  cost  several 
hundreds  of  dollars  each.  It  was  a  startling 
experience  to  many  of  them  to  discover  that 
a  girl  who  had  so  few  jewels  as  Sylvia  could  be 
so  haughty  and  self-possessed;  which  was,  of 
course,  just  what  they  had  come  for — to  acquire 
that  superiority  to  their  wealth  which  is  the  apex 
of  culture  in  millionairedom. 

So  Sylvia  became  an  uncrowned  queen,  and  all 
the  lumber  princesses  and  copper  duchesses  and 
railroad  countesses  vied  in  entertaining  her. 
They  treated  her  to  box-parties,  where,  duly 
chaperoned,  they  listened  to  possibly  indecent 
musical  comedies;  and  to  midnight  feasts  where 
they  imperiled  their  complexions  with  peanut 
butter  and  almond  paste  and  chocolate  creams 
and  stuffed  olives  and  anchovies  and  crackers 


36  SYLVIA 

and  mustard  pickles  and  fruit  cake  and  sardines 
and  plum  pudding  and  sliced  ham  and  salted 
almonds — and  what  other  delicacies  might  come 
along  in  anybody's  boxes  from  home.  To  aid 
in  the  digestion  of  these  "goodies"  Sylvia  was 
taken  out  twice  daily,  and  marched  in  a  little 
private  parade  up  Fifth  Avenue,  wearing  a  hat 
so  large  that  all  her  attention  was  required  to 
keep  it  on  in  windy  weather,  and  so  heavy  that 
it  made  her  head  ache  if  the  air  were  still;  a  collar 
so  high  that  she  could  not  bend  her  head  to  balance 
the  hat;  high-heeled  shoes  upon  which  she  toddled 
with  her  feet  crowded  down  upon  the  toes;  and 
a  corset  laced  so  tight  that  her  lower  ribs  were 
bent  out  of  shape  and  her  liver  endangered. 
About  the  highest  testimony  that  I  can  give  to 
the  altogether  superhuman  wonderfulness  of  Sylvia 
is  that  she  stayed  for  two  years  at  Miss  Abercrom- 
bie's,  and  came  home  a  picture  of  radiant  health, 
eager,  joyous — and  lovely  as  the  pearly  tints  of 
dawn. 

She  came  home  to  prepare  for  her  debut;  and 
what  an  outfit  she  brought!  You  may  picture 
her  unfolding  the  treasures  in  her  big  bedroom, 
which  had  been  freshly  done  over  in  pink  silk; 
her  mother  and  aunts  and  cousins  bending  over 
the  trays,  and  the  negro  servants  hovering  in  the 
doorway,  breathless  with  excitement,  while  the 
"yard-man"  came  panting  up  the  stairs  with 
new  trunks.  Such  an  array  of  hats  and  gowns 
and  lingerie,  gloves  and  fans,  ribbons  and  laces, 
silk  hose  and  satin  slippers,  beads  and  buckles! 


SYLVIA  LOVES  37 

The  "yard-man,"  a  negro  freshly  promoted  from 
the  corn-fields,  went  down  into  the  kitchen  with 
shining  eyes,  exclaiming,  "I  allus  said  dis  house 
was  heaven,  and  now  I  knows  it,  'cause  I  seen 
dem  'golden  slippers'!" 

It  was  not  a  time  for  a  girl  to  do  much  philos 
ophizing;  but  Sylvia  knew  that  these  " creations" 
of  Paris  dressmakers  had  cost  frightful  sums  of 
money,  and  she  wondered  vaguely  why  the  family 
had  insisted  upon  them.  She  had  heard  rumors 
of  a  poor  crop  last  year,  and  of  worries  about 
some  notes.  Glad  as  the  Major  was  to  see  her, 
she  thought  that  he  looked  careworn  and  tired. 

"Papa,"  she  said,  "I've  been  spending  an  awful 
lot  of  money." 

"Yes,  honey,"  he  answered. 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  I  have  been  extrava 
gant,  Papa." 

"No,  no,  honey." 

"I  tried  to  economize,  but  you've  no  idea  how 
things  cost  in  New  York,  and  how  those  girls 
spend  money.  My  clothes — Mamma  and  Aunt 
Nannie  would  have  me  buy  them " 

"It's  all  right,  my  child — you  have  only  one 
springtime,  you  know." 

Sylvia  paused  a  moment.  "I  feel  as  if  I  ought 
to  marry  a  very  rich  man,  after  all  the  money 
you've  spent  upon  me." 

Whereat  the  Major  looked  grave.  "Sylvia," 
he  said,  "I  don't  want  any  daughter  of  mine  to 
feel  that  she  has  to  marry.  I  shall  always  be 
able  to  support  my  children,  I  hope," 


38  SYLVIA 

This  was  noble,  and  Sylvia  was  grateful  for  it; 
but  with  that  serene,  observing  mind  of  hers  she 
could  not  help  noting  that  if  her  father  by  any 
chance  called  her  attention  to  some  man  of  her 
acquaintance,  it  was  invariably  a  "marriageable" 
man;  and  always  there  was  added  some  detail  as  to 
the  man's  possessions.  "Billy  Harding's  a  fellow 
with  a  future  before  him,"  he  would  remark. 
"He's  one  of  the  cleverest  business  men  I  know." 

Sylvia  was  also  impressed  with  a  comical 
phrase  of  her  mother's,  which  seemed  to  indicate 
that  that  good  lady  classified  poverty  with  small 
pox  and  diphtheria.  The  Major  had  suggested 
inviting  to  supper  a  young  medical  student  who 
was  honest  but  penniless;  and  "Miss  Margaret" 
replied,  "I  really  cannot  see  what  we  have  to 
gain  by  exposing  our  daughters  to  an  undesirable 
marriage."  Sylvia  concluded  that  her  famih- 
pinned  its  faith  to  the  maxim  of  Tennyson's 
"Northern  Fanner" — 

"Doan't  thou  marry  for  munny,  but  goa  wheer 
munny  is!" 


§7 

You  must  have  a  glimpse  of  Castleman  Hall 
as  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  dtbut.  The  old  house 
stands  upon  a  hill,  terraced  on  one  side,  and 
overlooking  the  river  from  a  high  bluff  on  the 
other.  It  is  of  red  brick,  originally  square,  with 
a  two-storied  portico  and  hanging  balcony  in 


SYLVIA   LOVES  39 

front;  later  on  there  had  been  added  two  wings 
of  white  painted  wood,  for  the  library  and  con 
servatory — now  nearly  covered  with  red  roses  and 
Virginia  creepers.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  great 
day  there  was  a  reception  to  all  the  married 
friends  of  the  family.  They  came  in  conveyances 
of  every  kind,  from  family  coaches  to  modern 
high-power  limousines;  they  came  in  costumes 
varying  from  the  latest  Paris  modes  to  the  ante 
bellum  splendor  of  old  Mrs.  Tagliaferro,  who 
hobbled  cautiously  over  the  polished  hardwood 
floors,  with  the  help  of  her  gold-headed  cane  on 
one  side,  and  her  husband,  the  General,  on  the 
other.  Once  arrived,  she  laid  her  hands  upon 
Sylvia's,  and  told  her  how  pretty  she  was,  and 
how  she  must  contribute  a  new  stone  to  the 
archway  through  which  the  Castlemans  had 
marched  to  fame  for  so  many  generations.  There 
had  been  many  famous  Castleman  beauties, 
quavered  the  old  gentleman,  in  his  turn,  but  none 
more  beautiful  than  the  present  one — save  only, 
perhaps,  her  mother.  (This  last  as  "Miss  Mar 
garet"  appeared  at  his  elbow,  clad  in  ample 
folds  of  gray  satin  and  tulle.)  So  one  by  one 
ladies  and  gentlemen  came  up  and  delivered  gal 
lant  speeches  and  grave  exhortations,  until  Sylvia 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  sense  of  responsibility 
involved  in  being  a  daughter  of  the  Castlemans. 
And  then  came  the  evening,  with  the  debut 
dance  for  the  young  people.  Ten  years  later  I 
saw  Sylvia  in  the  gown  she  wore:  white  chiffon 
over  white  messaline,  with  roses  and  a  string  of 


40  SYLVIA 

pearls.  Wonderful  she  must  have  been  that 
night,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  the  climax  of  her 
beauty;  eager,  glowing,  a-quiver  with  excitement. 
I  picture  her  standing  before  the  mirror,  child 
ishly  ravished  by  her  own  loveliness,  her  mother 
and  aunts,  scarcely  less  excited,  putting  the  final 
touches  to  her  toilette.  I  picture  her  girl  friends 
in  the  dressing-room  and  the  hall,  gossiping, 
chattering,  laughing;  the  buzz  of  excitement, 
then  the  hush  when  she  appeared,  the  cries  of 
congratulation  and  applause.  I  picture  the  down 
stairs  rooms,  decorated  with  lilies,  magnolias  and 
white  ribbons,  the  furniture  covered  with  white 
brocade,  the  chandeliers  turned  into  great  bells 
of  lilies,  the  soft  light  from  white-shaded  candles 
flooding  everything.  I  picture  the  swains,  wait 
ing  eagerly  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  each  with 
a  bouquet  for  his  chosen  one  in  his  hand.  I  can 
hear  the  strains  of  the  violins  floating  up  the 
staircase,  and  see  the  shimmering  form  of  Sylvia 
floating  down,  crowned  with  her  dazzling  glory 
of  golden  hair.  There  was  no  one  in  Castleman 
County  who  failed  to  realize  that  a  belle  was  born 
that  night! 


§8 

IT  was  just  a  week  after  these  festivities  that 
there  occurred  the  death  of  Sylvia's  great-aunt. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  characteristic 
than  the  method  of  her  departure.  She  left  home 


SYLVIA  LOVES  41 

and  betook  herself  to  an  aristocratic  boarding- 
house,  kept  by  a  "decayed  gentlewoman"  in  New 
Orleans;  she  might  be  a  long  time  a-dying,  she 
said,  and  did  not  want  anybody  making  a  fuss 
over  her.  Also  she  did  not  care  to  have  her 
nieces  and  nephews  calling  in  to  drop  hints  as 
to  the  disposition  of  her  rosewood  bedroom  set, 
her  miniature  piano  and  her  Queen  Anne  baby's 
crib.  She  left  a  will  in  which  she  bequeathed 
her  property  to  her  grand-niece,  Sylvia  Castle- 
man,  to  be  held  in  trust  for  her  until  she  was 
forty  years  of  age.  "Some  man  will  take  care  of 
her  while  she  is  beautiful,"  she  wrote,  "but  later 
on  she  may  find  use  for  my  pittance."  And 
finally  the  old  lady  put  in  a  clause  to  the  effect 
that  the  bequest  was  conditional  upon  her  grand- 
niece's  obeying  her  injunction  to  wear  no  mourning 
for  her.  "It  is  impossible  to  make  a  woman 
with  brown  eyes  look  presentable  in  black,"  she 
wrote.  And  this,  you  understand,  in  a  document 
which  had  to  be  filed  for  probate!  Most  fortunate 
it  was  that  all  the  editors  of  newspapers  in  the 
South  are  gentlemen,  who  can  be  relied  upon  not 
to  print  the  news. 

Sylvia  obeyed  the  instructions  of  this  extraor 
dinary  document,  and  felt  it  a  solemn  duty  to 
go  to  entertainments,  even  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
So  now  began  a  bewildering  succession  of  dinners, 
dances  and  receptions,  balls  and  suppers,  house 
parties,  hunting  parties,  auto  parties,  theatre 
parties.  It  speaks  marvels  for  her  constitution  that 
she  was  able  to  stand  the  strain.  When  the  last 


42  SYLVIA 

light  had  been  extinguished  she  would  drag  her 
self  upstairs  to  bed,  a  limp  train  hung  over  her 
limp  arm,  her  feet  aching  in  the  tiny  slippers 
and  her  back  aching  in  the  cruel  stays.  The 
Governor  saw  fit  to  appoint  her  as  his  "sponsor" 
at  the  state  militia  encampment;  and  so  for  ten 
days  she  would  rise  every  morning  at  daybreak, 
ride  out  with  an  " escort"  to  witness  guard- 
mount,  and  remain  hi  the  midst  of  a  rush  of 
gaieties  until  three  or  four  o'clock  the  next  morn 
ing,  when  the  nightly  dance  came  to  an  end. 

Sylvia  always  refused  to  give  photographs  of 
herself  to  men.  It  was  part  of  her  feeling  about 
them  that  she  could  not  endure  the  thought  of 
her  image  being  in  their  rooms.  But  her  enter 
prising  Aunt  Nannie,  the  Bishop's  wife,  presented 
one  to  the  editor  of  a  metropolitan  magazine, 
where  it  appeared  under  the  heading  of  "A 
Reigning  Beauty  of  the  New  South."  It  was 
taken  up  and  reproduced  in  Southern  papers, 
and  after  that  Sylvia  found  that  her  fame  had 
preceded  her — everywhere  she  went  new  worship 
pers  joined  her  train,  and  came  to  her  home 
town  to  lay  siege  to  her. 

You  may  perhaps  know  something  about  these 
Southern  men.  I  had  never  dreamed  of  such, 
and  I  would  listen  spellbound  for  hours  to  Sylvia's 
tales  of  them.  Men  who,  as  Lady  Dee  had 
phrased  it,  had  nothing  to  do  but  make  love  to 
their  women!  There  were  times  when  the  realiza 
tion  of  this  brought  me  a  shudder.  I  would  see, 
in  a  sudden  vision,  the  torment  of  a  race  of 


SYLVIA  LOVES  48 

creatures  who  were  doomed  to  spend  their  whole 
existence  in  the  chase  of  their  females;  and  the 
females  devoting  their  energies  to  stinging  them 
to  fresh  frenzies! 

The  men  liked  it ;  they  liked  nothing  else  in  the 
world  so  much.  "You  may  make  me  as  unhappy 
as  you  please,"  they  would  tell  Sylvia — "if  only 
you  will  let  me  love  you!"  And  Sylvia,  in  the 
course  of  time,  became  reconciled  to  letting  them 
love  her.  She  learned  to  play  the  game — to  play 
it  with  constantly  increasing  excitement,  with  a 
love  of  mischief  and  a  thirst  for  triumph. 

She  would  show  her  latest  victim  twenty  moods 
in  one  evening,  alluring  him,  repelling  him,  stimu 
lating  him,  scorning  him,  pitying  him,  bewilder 
ing  him.  When  they  met  again,  she  would  be 
completely  absorbed  in  the  conversation  of  an 
other  man.  He  would  be  reduced  at  last  to 
begging  for  a  chance  to  talk  seriously  with  her; 
and  she,  pretending  to  be  touched,  might  let  him 
call,  and  show  him  her  loveliest  and  most  sym 
pathetic  self.  So,  before  he  realized  it,  he  would 
be  caught  fast.  If  he  happened  to  be  especially 
conspicuous,  or  especially  rich,  or  especially  other 
wise  worth  while,  she  might  take  the  trouble  to 
goad  him  to  desperation.  Then  he  would  be 
ready  to  give  proofs  of  his  devotion — to  go  through 
West  Point,  or  to  be  made  a  judge,  if  only  she 
would  promise  to  marry  him.  Each  of  these 
tasks  she  set  to  an  unfortunate  wretch,  who  went 
off  and  performed  it — and  came  back  and  found 
her  married! 


44 

§9 

SUCH  were  the  customs  of  young  ladies  in 
Sylvia's  world;  but  I  must  not  fail  to  mention 
that  she  had  sometimes  the  courage  to  set  her 
face  against  this  "world."  For  instance,  she 
had  a  prejudice  against  drunkenness.  She  stood 
fast  by  the  bold  precedent  that  she  would  never 
permit  an  intoxicated  person  to  dance  with  her; 
and  terrible  humiliations  she  put  upon  two  or 
three  who  outraged  her  dignity.  They  hid  in 
their  rooms  in  an  agony  of  remorse,  and  sent 
deputations  of  their  friends  to  plead  for  pardon, 
and  went  away  from  home  and  stayed  for  months, 
until  Sylvia  consented  to  take  them  into  her 
favor  again. 

She  took  her  place  upon  the  icy  heights  of  her 
maidenhood,  and  was  not  to  be  drawn  therefrom. 
There  were  only  two  men  in  the  world,  outside 
of  fathers  and  uncles  and  cousins,  who  could 
boast  that  they  had  ever  kissed  her.  About 
both  of  these  I  shall  tell  you  in  the  course  of 
time.  She  was  famous  among  other  men  for 
her  reserve — they  would  make  wagers  and  lay 
siege  to  her  for  months,  but  no  one  ever  dared 
to  claim  that  he  had  secured  his  kiss. 

With  boyish  frankness  they  would  tell  her  of 
these  things;  they  told  her  all  they  thought 
about  her.  I  have  never  heard  of  men  who 
dealt  so  frankly  in  personalities,  who  would  dis 
cuss  a  woman  and  her  various  "points"  so  openly 
to  her  face.  "Miss  Sylvia,  you  look  like  all  your 


roses  to-night." — "Miss  Sylvia,  I  swear  you've 
got  the  loveliest  eyes  in  the  world!" — "You'll  be 
fading  soon  now;  you'd  better  marry  while  you've 
got  a  chance!" — "I  came  to  see  if  you  were  as 
pretty  as  they  say,  Miss  Castleman!" 

She  would  laugh  merrily.  "Are  you  disap 
pointed?  Don't  you  find  me  ado'able?" 

So  far  I  have  made  no  attempt  to  give  you  an 
idea  of  Sylvia's  way  of  speaking  English.  It  was 
a  drawl  so  charming  that  Miss  Abercrombie  had 
given  instructions  not  to  mar  it  by  rash  correc 
tions.  I  can  only  mention  a  few  of  her  words — 
which  is  as  if  I  gave  you  single  hairs  out  of  her 
golden  glory.  She  always  spoke  of  "cannles." 
She  could,  of  course,  make  nothing  of  the  letter  r, 
and  said  "funnichuh"  and  "que-ah"  and  "befo- 
ah  mawnin'."  There  had  been  an  English  heiress 
at  Miss  Abercrombie's  who  had  won  the  whole 
school  over  to  "gel,"  but  when  Sylvia  arrived,  she 
swept  the  floor  with  "  go-il."  The  most  irresistible 
word  of  all  I  thought  was  "bug;"  there  is  no  way 
to  indicate  this  by  spelling — you  must  simply 
take  three  times  as  long  to  say  it,  lingering  over 
the  vowel  sound,  caressing  it  as  if  you  thought 
that  "bu-u-u-gs"  were  the  most  "ado'able" 
things  in  all  the  "wo'il." 

Sylvia  learned  to  apply  with  deadly  effect  the 
maxim  of  Lady  Dee — that  a  woman's  sharpest 
weapon  is  her  naivete.  "Beware  of  me!"  she 
would  warn  her  helpless  victims.  "Haven't  you 
heard  that  I'm  a  coquette?  No,  I'm  not  joking. 
It's  something  I'm  bitterly  ashamed  of,  but  I 


46  SYLVIA 

can't  help  it;  I'm  a  cold-hearted,  selfish  creature, 
a  deliberate  breaker  of  hearts."  And  then,  of 
course,  the  victim  would  thrill  with  excitement 
and  exclaim,  "See  what  you  can  do  to  me,  Miss 
Sylvia!  I'll  send  you  armfuls  of  roses  if  you  can 
break  my  heart!"  You  may  judge  how  these 
competitions  ended  from  a  chance  remark  which 
Sylvia  made  to  me — "When  I  look  back  upon 
my  life,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  waded  in  a  river 
of  roses." 

The  only  protection  which  nature  has  vouch 
safed  against  these  terrors  is  the  fact  that  sooner 
or  later  such  cold  and  cruel  huntresses  themselves 
get  snared.  In  the  simile  of  "Sterne's  starling," 
they  are  lured  up  to  a  certain  cage,  and  after 
much  hopping  about  and  hesitating,  much  ad 
vancing  and  retreating,  much  chattering  and 
chirping,  they  adorn  themselves  in  satin  robes 
and  lace  veils  and  lilies-of-the-valley,  and  to  the 
sound  of  sweet  strains  from  "Lohengrin"  they 
enter  the  golden  cage.  And  then,  snap!  the  door 
is  shut  and  locked  fast,  and  the  proprietor  of  the 
cage  mounts  guard  over  it — in  Sylvia's  part  of 
the  world  with  a  shotgun  hi  his  hands. 


§  10 

So  I  come  to  the  time  when  this  haughty  lady 
was  humbled;  that  is  to  say,  the  time  of  her 
meeting  with  Frank  Shirley.  Because  it  was 


SYLVIA  LOVES  47 

through  Harriet  Atkinson  that  she  came  to  know 
him,  I  must  first  tell  you  in  a  few  words  about 
that  active  and  pushing  young  lady. 

Harriet  Atkinson  was  the  one  weak  spot  in 
the  fortifications  of  respectability  which  Sylvia's 
parents  had  built  up  about  her.  Harriet's  an 
cestors  were  Yankees,  of  the  very  most  odious 
"carpet-bag"  type.  Her  grandfather  had  been 
a  pawnbroker  in  Boston,  so  fierce  rumor  declared; 
and  her  father  was  a  street-railroad  president,  who 
purchased  "red-neck"  legislators  for  use  in  his 
business.  Harriet  herself  was  a  brunette  beauty, 
so  highly  colored  that  she  looked  artificial,  no 
matter  how  hard  she  tried  to  look  natural. 

But  in  spite  of  these  appalling  facts,  Harriet 
Atkinson  was  the  most  intelligent  girl  whom 
Sylvia  had  met  during  her  three  years  at  the 
"college."  She  had  a  wit  that  was  irresistible, 
and  also  she  understood  people.  You  might 
spend  weeks  in  her  company  and  never  be  bored; 
whereas  there  were  persons  who  could  prove 
possession  of  the  "very  best  blood  in  the  South," 
but  who  were  capable  of  boring  you  most  fright 
fully  when  they  got  you  alone  for  half  an  hour. 

Sylvia  was  never  allowed  to  go  to  Harriet's 
home,  nor  was  Harriet  ever  asked  to  Castleman 
Hall.  But  Sylvia  refused  to  give  up  her  friend, 
and  for  a  year  she  intrigued  incessantly  to  force 
Harriet  upon  her  hostesses,  and  to  persuade  her 
own  suitors  to  call  at  the  Atkinson  home.  In 
the  end  she  married  her  off  to  the  scion  of  a  great 
family— with  consequences  which  are  to  be  told 


48  SYLVIA 

at  a  later  stage  of  my  story.  The  point  for  the 
present  is  that  things  happened  exactly  as  Sylvia's 
aunts  had  predicted;  through  her  intimacy  with 
the  undesirable  Harriet  Atkinson  she  was  "ex 
posed"  to  the  acquaintance  of  several  undesirable 
men,  among  them  Frank  Shirley. 

Sylvia  had  known  about  the  Shirleys  from 
earliest  childhood.  She  had  heard  the  topic 
talked  about  at  the  family  dinner-table,  and  had 
seen  tears  in  her  father's  eyes  when  the  final 
tragedy  came.  For  the  Shirleys  were  among  the 
"best  people,"  and  this  was  not  the  land  of  thing 
which  was  allowed  to  happen  to  such. 

About  twelve  years  previously  the  legislature 
had  appropriated  money  for  the  building  of  a 
veterans'  home,  and  the  funds  had  been  entrusted 
to  a  committee,  of  which  Robert  Shirley  was 
treasurer.  The  project  had  lapsed  for  a  couple 
of  years,  and  when  the  money  was  called  for, 
Robert  Shu-ley  was  unable  to  produce  it.  Rumors 
leaked  out,  and  there  came  a  demand  in  the 
legislature  for  an  accounting. 

The  Major  was  one  of  a  committee  of  friends 
who  were  asked  by  the  Governor  to  make  a  private 
investigation.  They  found  that  Shirley  had 
deposited  the  money  to  his  private  bank  account, 
after  the  unbusinesslike  methods  of  a  Southern 
gentleman.  Checks  had  been  drawn  upon  it; 
but  there  was  evidence  at  the  bank  tending  to 
show  that  the  checks  might  not  have  been  signed 
by  Shirley  himself.  He  had  a  younger  brother, 
a  spendthrift  and  gambler,  whom  he  had  indulged 


SYLVIA  LOVES  49 

and  protected  all  his  life.  Such  were  the  hints 
which  Sylvia  had  heard  at  home — when  suddenly 
Robert  Shirley  proceeded  to  the  state  Capitol 
and  requested  the  Governor  to  stop  the  investi 
gation,  declaring  that  he  alone  was  to  blame. 

It  was  a  terrible  thing.  Shirley  was  besought 
to  fly,  he  was  told  by  the  Governor's  own  author 
ity  that  he  might  live  anywhere  outside  the  state, 
and  the  search  for  him  would  be  nominal.  But 
he  stood  fast;  the  money  was  gone,  and  some  one 
must  pay  the  penalty.  So  the  world  saw  the 
unprecedented  spectacle  of  a  man  of  "good 
family"  standing  trial,  and  receiving  a  sentence 
of  five  years  in  the  penitentiary. 

He  left  a  broken-hearted  wife  and  four  children. 
Sylvia  remembered  the  horror  with  which  her 
mother  and  her  aunts  had  contemplated  the  fate 
of  these  latter.  Two  girls,  soon  to  become  young 
ladies,  and  cut  off  from  all  hope  of  a  future! 
"But,  Mamma,"  Sylvia  cried,  "it  isn't  their  fault!" 
She  recollected  the  very  tone  of  her  mother's 
voice,  the  dying  away  to  a  horrified  whisper  at 
the  end:  "My  child,  their  father  wore  stripes!" 

The  Shirleys  made  no  attempt  to  hold  up  their 
heads  against  the  storm,  but  withdrew  into  strict 
seclusion  on  their  plantation.  Now,  ten  years 
later,  Robert  Shirley  having  died  in  prison,  his 
widow  was  a  pitiful  shadow,  his  daughters  were 
hopeless  old  maids,  and  his  two  sons  were  farmers, 
staying  at  home  and  acting  as  their  own  managers. 

Of  these,  Frank  Shirley  was  the  elder.  I  am 
handicapped  in  setting  out  to  tell  you  about  him 


50  SYLVIA 

by  the  fact  that  he  sits  in  the  next  room,  and 
will  have  to  read  what  I  write;  he  is  not  a  man 
to  stand  for  any  nonsense  about  himself — nor  yet 
one  whose  ridicule  an  amateur  author  would 
wish  to  face.  I  will  content  myself  with  stating 
simple  facts,  which  he  cannot  deny;  for  example, 
that  he  is  a  man  a  trifle  below  the  average  height, 
but  sturdily  built  and  exceedingly  powerful.  He 
had  in  those  days  dark  hair  and  eyes,  and  he 
would  not  claim  to  have  been  especially  bad- 
looking.  He  is  the  most  reserved  man  I  have 
ever  known,  but  his  feelings  are  intense  when  they 
are  roused,  and  on  these  rare  occasions  he  is 
capable  of  being  eloquent.  He  is,  in  general, 
a  very  solid  and  dependable  kind  of  man;  he 
does  not  ask  anything  of  anybody,  but  he  is 
willing  to  give,  cautiously,  after  he  has  made 
sure  that  his  motive  will  be  understood.  As  I 
read  that  over,  it  seems  to  me  a  judicious  and 
entirely  unsentimental  statement  about  him, 
which  he  will  have  to  pass. 

He  was,  he  tells  me,  a  lively  boy;  but  after 
the  age  of  eleven  he  always  had,  as  the  most 
prominent  fact  in  his  consciousness,  the  knowledge 
that  men  set  him  apart  as  something  different 
from  themselves.  And  this,  of  course,  made 
intercourse  with  them  difficult;  if  they  were 
indifferent  to  him,  that  was  insult,  and  if  they 
were  cordial,  then  they  were  taking  pity  upon 
him.  He  always  knew  that  the  people  who  met 
him,  however  politely  they  greeted  him,  were 
repeating  behind  his  back  the  inevitable  whisper, 


SYLVIA   LOVES  51 

"His  father  wore  stripes!"    So  naturally  he  found 
it  pleasanter  not  to  meet  people. 

Then,  too,  there  were  his  mother  and  sisters; 
it  was  hard  not  to  be  bitter  about  them.  He 
knew  that  the  girls  were  gentle  and  lovely;  and 
it  rather  made  men  seem  cowardly,  that  it  should 
be  certain  that  no  one  in  their  own  social  world 
would  ever  ask  them  in  marriage.  There  is  so 
much  asking  in  marriage  in  the  South — it  is 
really  difficult  for  a  gentlewoman  to  be  passed 
over  altogether.  The  Shirley  girls  could  not 
discuss  this,  even  in  the  bosom  of  their  family; 
but  Frank  came  to  understand,  and  to  brood 
over  the  thing  in  secret. 


§  11 

So  you  see  Frank  Shirley  was  a  difficult  man  to 
get  at — as  much  so  as  if  he  had  been  an  emperor 
or  an  anchorite.  I  have  been  interested  in  the 
psychology  of  sex,  and  I  wondered  how  much 
this  aloofness  had  to  do  with  what  happened  to 
Sylvia.  There  were  so  many  men,  and  they 
were  all  so  much  alike,  and  they  were  all  so  easy! 
But  here  was  a  man  who  was  different;  a  man 
whom  one  could  not  get  at  without  humiliating 
efforts;  a  man  of  mystery,  about  whom  one 
could  imagine  things!  I  asked  Sylvia,  who 
thought  there  might  be  something  in  this;  but 
much  more  in  a  deeper  fact,  which  is  known 


52  SYLVIA 

to  poets  and  tellers  of  love-tales,  but  has  not 
been  sufficiently  heeded  by  scientists — that  intui 
tive,  commanding  and  sometimes  terrifying  reve 
lation  of  sexual  affinity,  which  we  smile  at  and 
discredit  under  the  name  of  "love  at  first  sight." 
The  first  time  Sylvia  met  Frank  she  did  not 
know  who  he  was;  she  saw  at  first  only  his  back; 
and  yet  she  began  at  once  to  experience  a  thrill 
which  she  had  never  known  in  her  life  before. 
Absurd  as  they  may  sound,  I  will  repeat  her 
words:  "There  was  something  about  the  back 
of  his  neck  that  took  my  breath!" 

It  had  been  some  years  since  she  had  heard 
the  Shirleys  mentioned.  They  had  quietly  de 
clined  all  invitations,  and  this  made  it  easy  for 
everybody  to  do  with  decency  what  everybody 
wanted  to  do — to  cease  sending  invitations.  The 
Shirley  plantation  was  remotely  located,  some 
twenty  miles  away  from  Castleman  Hall;  and 
so  little  by  little  the  family  had  been  forgotten. 

But  there  was  a  certain  Mrs.  Venable,  a  young 
widow  who  owned  a  hunting-lodge  near  the  Shir 
ley  place;  and  as  fate  would  have  it,  she  was 
one  of  the  people  whom  Sylvia  had  persuaded  to 
take  up  Harriet  Atkinson.  One  day,  as  the  latter 
was  driving  to  the  lodge  in  her  automobile,  she 
was  "mired"  in  the  midst  of  a  terrific  thunder 
storm,  when  along  came  a  gentleman  on  horse 
back,  who  politely  insisted  upon  her  taking  his 
waterproof,  and  then  mounting  behind  him  and 
riding  to  his  home  up  on  the  hill;  by  which 
romantic  method  the  delighted  Harriet  found 


SYLVIA   LOVES  53 

herself  conveyed  to  an  old  and  evidently  aristo 
cratic  homestead,  and  welcomed  by  some  alto 
gether  lovely  people. 

Being  younger  than  Sylvia,  and  not  so  much 
on  the  "inside"  as  to  local  history,  Harriet  had 
been  obliged  to  get  the  story  from  Mrs.  Venable. 
It  had  heightened  her  interest  in  the  Shirleys — 
for  Harriet's  great  merit  was  that  she  was  human 
and  spontaneous  where  she  should  have  been 
respectable.  She  went  to  call  again  on  the 
family,  and  when  she  got  home  she  made  haste 
to  tell  Sylvia  about  it.  "Sunny,"  she  said — 
that  was  her  way  of  taking  liberties  with  Sylvia's 
complexion — "you  ought  to  meet  that  man 
Frank  Shirley."  She  went  on  to  tell  how  good- 
looking  he  was,  how  silent  and  mysterious,  and 
what  a  fine  voice  he  had.  "And  the  sweetest, 
lazy  smile!"  she  declared.  "I'm  sure  he  could 
be  a  lady-killer  if  he  did  not  take  life  so  seriously!" 
So,  you  see,  Sylvia  had  something  to  start  her 
imagination  going,  and  a  reason  for  accepting 
Mrs.  Venable's  invitation  to  a  hunting  party. 

One  sunshiny  morning  in  the  late  fall  she  was 
taking  part  in  a  deer-hunt,  carrying  a  rifle  and 
looking  as  picturesque  as  possible.  They  put  her 
on  a  "stand"  with  Charlie  Peyton,  who  ought 
to  have  been  at  college,  but  was  hanging  round 
making  a  nuisance  of  himself  by  sighing  and 
gazing.  After  waiting  a  half  hour  or  so,  off  in 
the  woods  they  heard  a  dog  yelping.  Charlie 
went  off  to  investigate,  thinking  it  might  be  a 
bear;  and  so  Sylvia  was  left  to  her  fate. 


54  SYLVIA 

She  heard  a  sound  in  the  bushes  at  one  side, 
and  thought  it  was  a  deer.  The  creature  moved 
past  her,  hidden  by  a  dense  thicket,  and  passed 
a  little  way  ahead,  with  a  heavy  trampling  sound. 
She  had  half  raised  her  gun,  when  suddenly  the 
bushes  parted,  and  with  a  leap  over  a  fallen  log 
there  came  into  view — not  a  deer,  but  a  horse 
with  a  rider  upon  his  back. 

The  girl  lowered  her  gun.  The  dog  yelped 
again  and  the  man  reined  up  his  horse  and  stood 
listening.  The  horse  was  restive;  as  he  drew 
rein  upon  it,  it  turned  slightly,  exhibiting 
the  rider's  face.  To  the  outward  eye  he  was  a 
not  unusual  figure,  wearing  the  khaki  shirt  and 
knickerbockers  affected  by  the  younger  genera 
tion  of  planters  when  on  duty.  The  shirt  was 
open,  with  a  red  bandana  handkerchief  tucked 
round  at  the  throat. 

But  Sylvia  was  not  looking  with  the  outward 
eye.  Sylvia  had  been  reading  romances,  and  had 
a  vague  idea  of  a  lover  who  would  some  day 
appear,  being  distinguished  from  the  ordinary 
admirers  of  salons  and  ball-rooms  by  something 
knightly  in  his  aspect.  And  this  man  seemed  to 
have  that  something.  His  face  was  a  face  of 
power,  yet  not  harsh,  rather  with  a  touch  of 
melancholy. 

As  a  rule  Sylvia  was  immediately  observant 
of  her  own  emotional  states,  especially  where 
men  were  concerned;  but  this  once  she  was  too 
much  interested  to  think  what  she  was  thinking. 
She  was  noting  the  man's  deeply-shadowed  eyes 


SYLVIA   LOVES  55 

and  shiny  black  hair,  his  statue-like  figure  and 
his  mastery  of  the  horse.  She  wondered  if  he 
would  look  in  her  direction,  and  she  waited,  fas 
cinated,  for  the  moment  when  his  glance  would 
rest  upon  her. 

The  moment  came.  He  started  slightly,  and 
then  quickly  his  hand  went  up  to  his  hat.  "I 
beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  politely. 

Sylvia  noted  his  deep,  full-toned  voice;  and 
with  a  sudden  thrill  she  recollected  Harriet's 
adventure.  "Can  this  be  Frank  Shirley?"  she 
thought.  She  caught  herself  together  and  smiled. 
"It  is  for  me  to  beg  pardon,"  she  said.  "I  came 
near  shooting  at  you." 

"I  deserved  it,"  he  answered,  smiling  in  turn. 
"I  was  trespassing  on  my  neighbor's  land." 

Sylvia  had  by  now  been  "out"  a  full  year, 
and  it  must  be  admitted  that  she  was  a  sophisti 
cated  young  lady.  When  she  met  a  man,  her 
thought  was:  "Could  I  love  him?  And  how 
would  it  be  if  I  married  him?"  Her  imagination 
would  leap  ahead  through  a  long  series  of  scenes: 
the  man's  home,  his  relatives  and  her  own,  his 
occupations,  his  amusements,  his  ideas.  She 
would  see  herself  traveling  with  him,  driving  with 
him,  presiding  at  dinner-parties  for  him — perhaps 
helping  to  get  him  sober  the  next  morning.  As 
a  drowning  man  is  said  to  live  over  his  whole 
past  in  a  few  seconds,  so  Sylvia  might  live  her 
whole  future  during  a  figure  at  a  "german." 

But  with  this  man  it  was  different.  She  could 
not  imagine  him  in  any  position  in  her  world. 


56  SYLVIA 

He  was  an  elemental  creature,  belonging  in  some 
wild  place,  where  there  was  danger  to  be  faced 
and  deeds  to  be  done.  Sylvia  had  read  "Paul 
and  Virginia,"  and  " Robinson  Crusoe,"  and 
"Typee,"  and  in  her  mind  was  a  vague  idea  of 
a  primitive,  close-to-nature  life,  which  one  yearned 
for  when  one  was  tightly  laced,  or  was  sent  into 
the  parlor  to  entertain  an  old  friend  of  the  family. 
She  imagined  this  strange  knight  springing  for 
ward  and  lifting  her  upon  his  saddle-bow,  to  bear 
her  away  to  such  a  world.  She  could  feel  his 
powerful  arms  about  her,  his  whispered  words 
in  her  ear;  she  could  hear  the  clatter  of  his  horse's 
hoofs — away,  away! 

She  had  to  make  another  effort,  and  remember 
who  she  was.  "You  are  not  lost,  I  suppose?" 
he  was  asking. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said.     "I  am  on  a  'stand."1 

"Of  course,"  he  replied;  again  there  was  a 
pause,  and  again  Sylvia's  brain  went  whirling. 
It  was  absurd  how  the  beating  of  her  heart  kept 
translating  itself  into  the  clatter  of  horse's  hoofs. 

The  man  turned  for  a  moment  to  listen  to  the 
dog;  and  she  stole  another  look  at  him.  His 
eyes  came  back  and  caught  her  glance.  She 
absolutely  had  to  say  something — instantly,  to 
save  the  situation.  "I — I  am  not  alone,"  she 
stammered.  Oh,  how  dreadful — that  she,  Sylvia 
Castleman,  should  stumble  over  words! 

"My  escort  has  gone  to  look  for  the  dog,"  she 
added.  "He  will  be  back  in  a  moment." 

"Oh,"  he  said;    and  Sylvia  noted  a  sudden 


SYLVIA   LOVES  57 

change  in  his  expression — a  set,  repressed  look. 
She  saw  the  blood  mounting  slowly,  until  it 
colored  his  cheeks  to  a  crimson. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  coldly.  " Good- 
morning."  He  turned  his  horse  and  started  on 
his  way. 

He  had  taken  her  words  as  a  dismissal.  But 
that  was  the  least  part  of  the  mistake.  Sylvia 
read  his  mind  in  a  flash — he  was  Frank  Shirley, 
and  he  thought  that  she  had  recognized  him,  and 
was  thinking  of  his  father  who  had  worn  stripes! 
Yes,  surely  it  must  be  that — for  what  right  had 
he  to  be  hurt  otherwise — that  she  did  not  care 
to  stand  conversing  with  a  strange  man  in  a 
forest? 

The  thought  sent  her  into  a  panic.  She  thought 
of  nothing  but  the  cruelty  of  that  idea.  "No, 
no!"  she  cried,  the  tears  almost  starting  into  her 
eyes.  "I  did  not  mean  to  send  you  away  at  all!" 

He  turned,  startled  by  her  vehemence.  For 
a  moment  or  two  they  stood  staring  at  each  other. 
The  girl  had  this  one  swift  thought:  "How 
dreadful  it  must  be  to  have  such  a  thing  in  your 
mind,  to  have  to  be  waiting  for  insults  from 
people — or  at  best,  for  pity!" 

Then,  in  his  quiet  voice,  he  said,  "I  really 
think  I  had  better  go."  Again  he  turned  his 
horse,  and  without  another  glance  rode  away, 
leaving  Sylvia  staring  at  his  vanishing  figure, 
with  her  hands  tightly  clutching  her  gun. 


58  SYLVIA 

§  12 

AFTER  that  Sylvia  felt  that  she  had  in  common 
decency  to  meet  Frank  Shirley.  She  asked  noth 
ing  more  about  her  motives — she  simply  had  to 
meet  him,  to  remove  one  thought  from  his  mind. 
But  for  two  days  she  was  at  her  wit's  end,  and 
went  round  bored  to  death  by  everything  and 
everybody.  She  had  a  sudden  whim  to  be  let 
alone;  and  how  difficult  it  is  to  be  let  alone  at 
a  house  party!  There  was  the  everlasting  Charlie 
Peyton,  looking  at  her  out  of  sickly  blue  eyes,  and 
forever  trying  to  get  hold  of  her  hand;  there  was 
Billy  Aldrich,  with  his  sybaritic  silk  socks,  his 
shiny  finger  nails  and  talcum-powdered  face; 
there  was  Malcolm  McCallum,  a  dandy  from 
Louisville,  with  his  endless  stream  of  impeccable 
suits  and  his  caravan  of  trunks;  there  was  Harvey 
Richards,  a  " steel-man"  from  Birmingham,  who 
had  thrown  his  business  to  the  winds  and  settled 
down  to  the  task  of  boring  Sylvia.  He  was  big 
and  burly,  and  had  become  the  special  favorite 
of  her  family;  he  dandled  the  baby  brother  and 
made  fudge  with  the  sisters — but  Sylvia  declared 
viciously  that  his  idea  of  love-making  was  to 
poke  at  her  with  his  finger. 

She  took  to  getting  up  very  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  so  that  she  could  go  riding  alone.  As  there 
was  but  one  road,  it  was  not  her  fault  if  she  passed 
near  the  Shirley  place.  And  if  by  any  remote 
chance  he  were  to  be  out  riding  too — 

It  was  the  third  morning  that  she  met  him. 


SYLVIA   LOVES  59 

He  came  round  a  turn,  and  it  all  happened  in  a 
flash,  before  she  had  time  to  think.  He  gave 
her  the  stiffest  greeting  that  was  consistent  with 
good  breeding;  and  then  he  was  past.  Of  course 
she  could  not  look  back.  It  was  ten  chances  to 
one  that  he  would  not  do  the  same,  but  still  he 
might,  and  that  would  be  dreadful. 

She  went  on.  She  was  angry  with  herself  for 
her  stupidity.  That  she  should  have  met  him 
thus,  and  had  no  better  wit  than  to  let  him  get 
by!  Theoretically,  of  course,  ladies  cannot  stop 
gentlemen  to  whom  they  have  not  been  intro 
duced;  but  there  are  always  things  that  can 
happen,  in  cases  of  emergency  like  this.  She 
thought  of  plans,  and  then  she  fell  into  a  rage 
with  herself  for  thus  pursuing  a  man. 

The  next  morning  when  she  went  riding,  she 
forced  herself  to  turn  the  horse's  head  in  the 
other  direction  from  the  Shirley  place.  But  her 
thoughts  would  come  back  to  Frank,  and  pres 
ently  she  was  making  excuses  for  herself.  This 
man  was  not  as  other  men;  if  he  avoided  her, 
it  was  not  because  he  did  not  want  to  know  her, 
but  because  of  his  misfortune.  It  was  wicked 
that  a  man  should  be  tied  up  in  such  a  net  of 
misapprehension;  to  get  him  out  of  it  would  be, 
not  unmaidenly,  but  heroic.  When  she  had  met 
him  yesterday  morning,  she  ought  to  have  stopped 
her  horse,  and  made  him  stay  and  talk  with  her. 
She  was  to  leave  in  two  days  more! 

She  turned  her  horse  and  went  back;  and 
when  she  was  near  the  Shirley  house — here  he 
came! 


60  SYLVIA 

She  saw  him  far  down  the  road,  and  so  had 
plenty  of  time  to  get  her  wits  together.  Had 
he,  by  any  chance,  come  out  in  the  hope  of 
meeting  her?  Or  would  he  be  annoyed  by  her 
getting  in  his  way?  Suppose  he  were  to  snub 
her — how  could  she  ever  get  over  it? 

She  took  a  diamond  ring  from  her  finger,  and 
reached  back  and  shoved  it  under  the  saddle 
cloth.  It  was  a  "marquise"  ring,  with  sharp 
points,  and  when  she  threw  her  weight  upon  it, 
the  horse  gave  a  jump.  She  repeated  the  action, 
and  it  began  to  prance.  "Now  then!"  whispered 
Sylvia  to  herself. 


§  13 

HE  came  near;  and  she  reined  up  her  chafing 
steed.  "I  beg  pardon,"  she  said. 

He  raised  his  hat,  and  holding  it,  looked  at 
her  inquiringly. 

"I  think  my  horse  must  have  a  stone  in  his 
foot." 

"Oh!"  he  said,  and  was  off  in  a  moment,  throw 
ing  the  reins  of  his  mount  over  its  head  and 
handing  them  to  her. 

"Which  foot?"  he  asked/ 

"I  don't  know." 

He  bent  down  and  examined  one  hoof,  then 
another,  and  so  on  for  all  four,  without  a  word. 
Then,  straightening  up,  he  said,  "I  don't  see 
anything." 


SYLVIA   LOVES  61 

He  looked  very  serious  and  concerned.  How 
"easy"  he  would  be!  "There  really  must  be 
something,"  she  said.  "He's  all  in  a  lather." 

"There  might  be  something  deep  in,"  he  an 
swered,  making  his  investigation  all  over  again. 
"But  I  don't  see  any  blood."  (What  a  fine  back 
he  has!  thought  Sylvia.) 

He  stood  up.  "Let  me  see  his  mouth,"  he 
said.  "Are  you  sure  you've  not  held  him  too 
tight?" 

"I  am  used  to  horses,"  was  her  reply. 

"Some  of  them  have  peculiarities,"  he  remarked. 
"Possibly  the  saddle  has  rubbed— 

"No,  no,"  answered  Sylvia,  in  haste,  as  he 
made  a  move  to  lift  the  cloth. 

It  was  always  hard  for  her  to  keep  from  laugh 
ing  for  long;  and  there  was  something  so  comical 
in  his  gravity.  Then  too,  something  desperate 
must  be  done,  for  presently  he  would  mount  and 
ride  away.  "There's  surely  no  stone  in  his  foot," 
he  declared. 

WTiereat  Sylvia  broke  into  one  of  her  radiant 
smiles.  "Perhaps,"  she  said,  "it's  in  your  horse's 
foot!" 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"Don't  you  see?"  she  laughed.  "Something 
must  be  wrong — or  you  couldn't  be  here  talking 
to  me!" 

But  he  still  looked  bewildered.  "Dear  me, 
what  a  man!"  thought  she. 

A  color  was  beginning  to  mount  in  his  cheeks. 
Perhaps  he  was  going  to  be  offended!  Clearly, 


62  SYLVIA 

with  such  a  man  one's  cue  was  frankness.  So 
her  tone  changed  suddenly.  ''Are  you  Mr. 
Shirley?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"And  do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Castleman." 

"Our  families  are  old  friends,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know  it." 

"And  then,  tell  me — "  She  paused.  "Hon 
estly!" 

"Why— yes." 

"I've  been  honest  and  told  you — I'm  not  really 
worried  about  my  horse.  Now  you  be  honest 
and  say  why  you  rode  out  this  morning." 

He  waited  before  replying,  studying  her  face — 
not  boldly,  but  gravely.  "I  think,  Miss  Castle 
man,  that  it  would  be  better  if  I  did  not." 

Then  it  was  Sylvia's  turn  to  study.  Was  it 
a  rebuke?  Had  he  not  come  out  on  her  account 
at  all?  Or  was  it  still  the  ghost  of  his  father's 
prison-suit? 

He  did  not  help  her  with  another  word.  (I 
can  hear  Frank's  laugh  as  he  told  me  about  this 
episode.  "We  silent  fellows  have  such  an  advan 
tage!  We  just  wait  and  let  people  imagine 
things!") 

Sylvia's  voice  fell  low.  "Mr.  Shirley,  you  have 
me  at  a  great  disadvantage."  And  as  she  said 
this  she  gazed  at  him  with  the  wonderful  red- 
brown  eyes,  wide  open,  childlike.  So  far  there 
had  never  been  a  man  who  could  resist  the  spell 
of  those  eyes.  Would  this  man  be  able?  The 


SYLVIA   LOVES  63 

busy  little  brain  behind  them  was  watching  every 
sign. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  replied;  and  she 
took  up  the  words: 

"It  is  /  who  don't  understand.  And  I  dare 
not  ask  you  to  explain!" 

She  was  terrified  at  this  temerity;  and  yet 
she  must  press  on — there  was  no  other  way. 
She  saw  gates  opening  before  her — gates  into 
wonderland! 

She  leaned  forward  with  a  little  gesture  of 
abandonment.  "Listen,  Frank  Shirley!"  she 
said.  (What  a  masterstroke  was  that!)  "I 
have  known  about  you  since  I  was  a  little  girl. 
And  I  understand  the  way  things  are  now,  because 
I  am  a  friend  of  Miss  Atkinson's.  She  asked 
you  to  come  over  and  meet  me,  and  you  didn't. 
Now  if  the  reason  was  that  you  have  no  interest 
hi  me — why  then  I'm  annoying  you,  and  I'm 
behaving  outrageously,  and  I'm  preparing  humilia 
tion  for  myself.  But  if  the  reason  is  that  you 
think  I  wouldn't  meet  you  fairly — that  I  wouldn't 
judge  you  as  I  would  any  other  man — why,  don't 
you  see,  that  would  be  cruel,  that  would  be 
wicked!  If  you  were  afraid  that  I  wanted  to — 
to  patronize  you — to  do  good  to  you " 

She  stopped.     Surely  she  had  said  enough! 

There  was  a  long  silence,  while  he  gazed  at 
her — reading  her  very  soul,  she  feared.  "Sup 
pose,  Miss  Castleman,"  he  said,  at  last,  "that 
I  was  afraid  that  you  wanted  to  do  harm  to  me?" 

That  was  getting  near  to  what  she  wanted! 
"Are  you  afraid?"  she  asked. 


64  SYLVIA 

"Possibly  I  am,"  he  replied.  "It  is  easy  for 
those  who  have  never  suffered  to  preach  to  those 
who  have  never  done  anything  else." 

Sylvia  did  not  know  quite  how  to  meet  that. 
It  was  so  much  more  serious  than  she  had  been 
looking  for,  when  she  had  slipped  that  ring  under 
the  saddle-cloth!  "Oh,"  she  cried,  "what  shall 
I  say  to  you?" 

"I  will  tell  you  exactly,"  he  said,  "and  then 
neither  of  us  will  be  taking  advantage  of  the 
other.  You  are  offering  me  your  friendship,  are 
you  not?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  can  you  say  to  me  that  if  I  were 
to  accept  it,  the  shame  of  my  family  would  never 
make  any  difference  to  you?" 

She  cried  instantly,  "That  is  what  I've  been 
trying  to  tell  you!  Of  course  it  would  not." 

"You  can  say  that?"  he  persisted.  "It  would 
make  no  difference  whatever?" 

She  was  about  to  answer  again ;  but  he  stopped 
her.  "Wait  and  think.  You  must  know  just 
what  I  mean.  It  is  not  a  thing  about  which 
I  could  endure  a  mistake.  Think  of  your  family 
—your  friends — your  whole  world!  And  think 
of  everything  that  might  arise  between  us!" 

She  stared  at  him,  startled.  He  was  asking 
if  he  might  make  love  to  her!  She  had  not 
meant  it  to  go  so  far  as  that — but  there  it  was. 
Her  own  recklessness,  and  his  forthrightness,  had 
brought  it  to  that  point.  And  what  could  she 
say? 


SYLVIA  LOVES  65 

"Think!"  he  was  saying.  "And  don't  try  to 
evade — don't  lie  to  me.  Answer  me  the  truth!" 

His  eyes  held  hers.  She  waited — thinking,  as 
he  forced  her  to.  At  last,  when  she  spoke,  it 
was  with  a  slightly  trembling  voice.  "It  would 
make  no  difference,"  she  said. 

And  then  she  tried  to  continue  looking  at  him, 
but  she  could  not.  She  was  blushing;  it  was 
a  dreadful  habit  she  had! 

It  was  an  absolutely  intolerable  situation,  and 
she  must  do  something — instantly.  He  never 
would — the  dreadful  sphinx  of  a  man!  She 
looked  up.  "Now  we're  friends?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  replied. 

"Then,"  she  said,  laughing,  "reach  under  the 
saddle-cloth  and  get  out  my  ring.  I  might  lose 
it." 

Bewildered,  he  got  the  ring,  and  understanding 
at  last,  laughed  with  her.  "And  now,"  cried 
Sylvia,  in  her  friendliest  tone  of  voice,  "get  on 
your  horse  again  and  behave  like  a  man  of  enter 
prise!  Come!"  She  touched  her  mount  and 
went  galloping;  she  heard  him  pounding  away 
behind  her,  and  she  began  to  sing: 

"Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day, 
All  the  jolly  chase  is  near 
With  hawk  and  hound  and  hunting-spear!" 


C6  SYLVIA 

§  14 

THEY  were  good  comrades  now;  all  their  prob 
lems  solved,  and  a  stirrup-cup  of  happiness  to 
quaff  between  them.  Sylvia  was  amazed  at  her 
self — the  surge  of  exultation  which  arose  in  her 
and  swept  her  along  upon  its  crest.  Never  in  all 
her  life  had  she  been  as  full  of  verve  and  anima 
tion  as  she  was  throughout  that  ride.  She 
laughed,  she  sang,  she  poured  out  a  stream  of 
fantasy;  and  all  the  while  the  clatter  of  the 
horses  hoofs — romance  blending  itself  with  reality! 

But  also  she  was  studying  the  man.  There 
was  something  in  her  which  must  always  be 
studying  people.  Thank  Heaven,  he  was  a  man 
who  could  forget  himself,  and  laugh  and  be  good 
fun!  It  was  something  to  have  got  him  out  of 
his  melancholy,  and  set  him  to  galloping  here — 
admiring  her,  marveling  at  her!  She  felt  his 
admiration  like  a  storm  of  wind  pushing  her 
along. 

At  last  she  drew  up,  breathless.  "Dear  me," 
she  exclaimed,  "what  a  lot  of  chattering  I  have 
done!  And  we  must  be — how  many  miles  from 
home?" 

"Ten,  I  should  say,"  he  replied. 

"And  I've  had  no  breakfast!"  she  said.  "We 
really  must  go  back." 

He  made  no  objection,  and  they  turned.  "You 
must  come  and  see  fne  at  the  lodge,"  she  said. 
"I  am  going  home  to-morrow  afternoon." 

But  he  shook  his  head.     "Don't  ask  me,"  he 


SYLVIA   LOVES  67 

replied.  "You  know  I  don't  belong  among 
smart  people." 

She  started  to  protest;  but  then  she  thought 
of  Billy  Aldrich  with  his  tight  collars  and  fancy 
stick-phis — of  Malcolm  McCallum  with  his  Jap 
anese  valet;  no,  there  was  no  use  pretending 
about  such  things.  And  besides,  she  did  not 
want  these  people  to  know  her  secret. 

"But  where  can  we  meet?"  she  said.  (How 
perfectly  appalling  was  that — without  any  hint 
from  him!) 

"Can't  we  ride  again  to-morrow  morning?"  he 
asked,  quite  simply. 

And  so  they  settled  it.  He  left  her  at  the 
place  where  the  road  turned  in  to  the  lodge. 
He  tried  to  thank  her  for  what  she  had  taken 
the  trouble  to  do;  but  she  was  frightened  now — 
she  dared  not  stay  and  listen  any  longer  to  his 
voice.  She  waved  him  a  bright  farewell,  and 
rode  off,  feeling  suddenly  faint  and  bewildered. 

She  had  half  a  mile  or  so  to  ride  alone,  and 
in  that  ride  it  was  exactly  as  if  he  were  by  her 
side.  She  still  heard  his  horse's  hoofs,  and  felt 
how  he  would  look  if  she  were  to  turn.  Once 
she  thought  of  Lady  Dee,  and  then  she  could 
not  help  laughing.  What  would  Lady  Dee  have 
said!  How  many  of  the  rules  of  coquetry  had 
she  not  broken  in  the  space  of  two  brief  hours! 
But  after  a  little  more  thought,  she  consoled  her 
self.  Possibly  there  were  moves  in  this  game 
which  even  Lady  Dee  had  never  heard  of!  "I 
don't  think  I  managed  it  so  badly,"  she  was  say 
ing  to  herself,  as  she  dismounted  from  her  horse. 


68  SYLVIA 

And  that  was  the  view  she  took  when  she  told 
Harriet  about  it.  She  had  not  meant  to  tell 
Harriet  at  all,  but  the  secret  would  out — she  had 
to  have  some  one  to  talk  to.  "Oh,  my  dear,"  she 
exclaimed,  "he's  perfectly  wonderful!" 

"Who?     What  do  you  mean?"    asked  Harriet. 

"Frank  Shirley." 

"What?    You've  met  him?" 

"Met  him?  I've  been  riding  with  him  the 
whole  morning,  and  I've  almost  let  him  propose 
to  me!" 

"Sylvia!"  cried  Harriet,  aghast. 

The  other  stood  looking  before  her,  grown 
suddenly  thoughtful.  "Yes,  I  did.  And  what's 
more,  I  believe  that  to-morrow  morning  I'm  going 
to  let  him  propose  to  me." 

"Sunny,"  exclaimed  her  friend,  "are  you  a 
woman,  or  one  of  Satan's  hups?" 

For  answer  Sylvia  took  her  seat  at  the  piano 
and  began  to  sing — a  song  by  which  all  her  lovers 
set  much  store: 

"Who  is  Sylvia?    What  «  she, 

That  all  our  swains  commend  her? 

Holy,  fair  and  wise  is  she — 

The  heavens  such  grace  did  lend  her 

That  she  might  adored  be!" 


§  15 

SYLVIA  did  very  little  thinking  that  first  day — 
she  was  too  much  possessed  by  feelings.     Besides 


this  she  had  to  go  through  all  the  routine  of 
a  house  party;  to  go  to  breakfast  and  make 
apologies  for  her  singular  desire  to  ride  alone; 
to  go  quail-shooting  and  remind  Charlie  Peyton 
to  fire  off  his  gun  now  and  then;  to  curl  her  hair 
and  select  a  gown  for  dinner — and  all  the  while 
in  a  glow  of  happiness  so  intense  as  to  come 
close  to  the  borderland  of  pain. 

It  was  not  a  definite  emotion,  but  a  vague, 
suffused  ecstasy.  She  was  like  one  who  goes 
about  hearing  exquisite  music;  angels  singing 
in  the  sky  above  her,  little  golden  bells  ringing 
in  every  part  of  her  body.  And  then  always, 
penetrating  the  mist  of  her  feelings,  was  the 
memory  of  Frank  Shu-ley.  She  could  see  his 
eyes,  as  they  had  looked  up  at  her;  she  could 
hear  the  tones  of  his  voice — its  low  intensity  as 
he  had  said,  "Think  of  everything  that  might 
happen  between  us!"  She  would  find  herself 
blushing  crimson  at  the  dinner-table,  and  would 
have  to  chatter  to  hide  her  confusion. 

When  night  came  she  went  into  a  sleep  that 
was  a  half  swoon  of  happiness;  and  awoke  in 
the  early  dawn,  first  bewildered,  then  horrified, 
because  of  what  she  had  done — her  boldness, 
her  lack  of  dignity  and  reserve.  She  had  thrown 
herself  at  a  man's  head!  And  of  course  he  would 
be  disgusted  and  would  flee  from  her.  She  drank 
her  coffee  and  dressed  a  full  half  hour  too  early; 
and  meanwhile  she  was  planning  how  she  would 
treat  him  that  morning.  But  then,  suppose  he 
did  not  come  that  morning? 


70  SYLVIA 

She  rode  out  in  the  light  of  a  sunrise  she  did 
not  see,  amid  the  song  of  birds  she  did  not  hear. 
Suppose  he  did  not  come!  When  she  saw  him, 
far  up  the  road,  she  wanted  to  turn  and  flee. 
Her  heart  pounded,  her  cheeks  burned,  there  was 
a  clashing  as  of  cymbals  in  her  ears.  She  reined 
up  her  horse  and  sat  motionless,  telling  herself 
that  she  must  be  calm.  She  clenched  her  hands 
and  bit  a  little  hole  in  her  tongue;  and  so,  when 
he  arrived,  he  found  a  young  woman  of  the  world 
awaiting  him. 

She  saw  at  once  that  something  was  wrong 
with  him.  He  too  had  been  having  moods  and 
agonies,  and  had  come  full  of  resolutions  and 
reservations!  He  greeted  her  politely,  and  had 
almost  nothing  to  say  as  they  rode  away  'together. 
Sylvia's  heart  sank.  He  had  come  because  he 
had  promised;  but  he  was  regretting  his  indis 
cretions.  Very  well,  she  would  show  him  that  she, 
too,  could  be  polite!  Under  the  spur  of  her  fierce 
pride,  she  could  be  a  light-hearted  child,  utterly 
unaware  of  the  existence  of  any  sulking  male. 

So  they  rode  on.  It  was  such  a  beautiful 
morning,  the  odor  of  the  pine-forests  was  so  re 
freshing  and  the  song  of  the  birds  so  free,  that 
Sylvia  was  soon  all  that  she  had  set  out  to  pretend. 
She  forgot  her  cavalier  for  several  minutes,  laugh 
ing  and  humming.  When  she  realized  him  again, 
she  had  the  boldness  to  tease  him  about  himself — 

"Oh,  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-anns, 
Alone,  and  palely  loitering?" 


SYLVIA  LOVES  71 

And  when  he  had  no  poetry  ready  to  reply,  she 
grew  tired  of  him  altogether,  and  touched  her 
horse  and  cantered  quickly  on.  Let  him  follow 
her  if  he  chose — what  mattered  it!  Moreover, 
she  rode  well,  and  men  always  noticed  it;  she 
was  bare-headed,  and  no  man  ever  saw  the 
golden  glory  of  her  hair  in  bright  sunlight  that 
his  heart  did  not  begin  to  quiver  within  him! 

After  a  while  he  spurred  his  horse  and  rode  at 
her  side,  and  without  looking,  she  saw  that  he 
was  watching  her.  She  gave  him  just  a  little 
smile,  absent-minded  and  barely  polite.  Resolv 
ing  to  punish  him  still  more,  she  asked  him  the 
tune.  He  gravely  drew  out  his  watch  and  replied 
to  her  question.  "I  will  ride  as  far  as  the 
spring,"  she  said.  "Then  I  must  be  going  back." 

But  he  did  not  make  the  expected  protest. 
He  was  going  to  lose  her,  and  he  did  not  care! 
Oh,  what  a  man! 

As  they  drew  near  the  spring,  Sylvia  began  to 
be  uneasy  again.  She  did  not  want  him  to  lose 
her;  she  wanted  him  to  care.  She  stopped  to 
breathe  her  horse,  and  to  look  at  the  moss-ringed 
pool  of  water,  and  at  the  field  of  golden-rod 
beyond.  "How  lovely!"  she  said;  and  repeated, 
"How  lovely!"  He  never  said  a  word — and 
when  he  might  so  easily  have  said,  "Let  us  stay 
a  while!" 

She  was  growing  desperate.  Her  horse  had  got 
its  breath  and  had  had  some  water — whatitelse? 
"I  must  have  some  of  that  golden-rod!"  she 
exclaimed,  suddenly.  What  was  the  matter  with 


72  SYLVIA 

him,  staring  into  space  in  that  fashion?  Had 
he  no  manners  at  all?  "I  must  have  some 
golden-rod,"  she  repeated;  and  when  he  still 
made  no  move,  she  said,  "Hold  my  horse,  please," 
and  started  to  dismount. 

He  sprang  off,  and  took  the  reins  of  her  horse, 
and  those  of  his  own  hi  the  same  hand,  giving 
his  other  hand  to  her.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  touched  her,  and  it  sent  a  shock  through  her 
that  sent  her  flying  in  a  panic — out  into  the  field 
of  flowers,  where  she  could  hide  her  cheeks  and 
her  trembling! 


§  16 

HE  made  the  horses  fast  to  tlie  fence,  carefully 
and  deliberately;  and  meantime  she  was  gather 
ing  golden-rod.  She  knew  that  she  made  a 
picture  in  the  midst  of  flowers.  She  was  very 
much  occupied  as  he  came  to  her  side. 

A  moment  later  she  heard  his  voice:  "Miss 
Castleman." 

Panic  seized  her  again,  but  she  looked  up, 
with  her  last  flicker  of  courage.  "Well?"  she 
asked. 

"There  is  something  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he 
began.  "I  can't  play  this  game  with  you — I  am 
no  match  for  you  at  all." 

"Why — what  do  you  mean?"  she  managed  to 
say. 

As  usual,  he  knew  just  what  he  meant.     "I 


SYLVIA    LOVES  73 

am  not  a  man  who  can  play  with  his  emotions," 
he  said.  "You  must  understand  this  at  the 
very  outset — the  thing  is  real  to  me,  and  I've 
got  to  know  quickly  whether  or  not  it  is  real  to 
you." 

There  he  was !  Like  a  storm  of  wind  that  threat 
ened  to  sweep  away  her  pretenses,  the  whole  pitiful 
little  structure  of  her  coquetry.  But  she  could 
not  let  the  structure  go;  it  was  her  only  shelter, 
and  she  strove  desperately  to  hold  it  in  place. 
"Why  should  you  assume  that  I  play  with  my 
emotions?"  she  demanded. 

"You  play,  not  with  your  own,  but  with  other 
peoples'  emotions,"  he  replied.  "I  know;  I've 
heard  about  you — long  ago." 

She  drew  herself  up  haughtily.  "You  do  not 
approve  of  me,  Mr.  Shirley?  I'm  very  sorry." 

"You  must  know — "  he  began. 

But  she  went  on,  in  a  rush  of  defensive  reckless 
ness:  "You  think  I'm  hollow — a  coquette — a 
trifler  with  hearts.  Well,  I  am.  It's  all  I  know." 
She  flung  her  head  up,  looking  at  him  defiantly. 

"No,  Miss  Castleman,"  he  said,  "it's  not  all 
you  know!" 

But  her  recklessness  was  driving  her — that 
spirit  of  the  gambler  that  was  in  the  blood  of 
all  her  race.  "It  is  all  I  know."  She  bent  over 
and  began  strenuously  to  pluck  sprays  of  golden- 
rod. 

"To  break  men's  hearts?"  he  asked. 

She  laughed  scornfully.  "I  had  a  great-aunt, 
Lady  Dee — perhaps  you've  heard  of  her.  She 


74  SYLVIA 

taught  me — and  I've  found  out  through  much 
experience  that  she  was  right."  She  gazed  at 
him  boldly,  over  the  armful  of  flowers.  "  'Sylvia, 
never  let  yourself  be  sorry  for  men.  Let  them 
take  care  of  themselves.  They  have  all  the 
advantage  in  the  game.  They  are  free  to  come 
and  go,  they  pick  us  up  and  look  us  over  and 
drop  us  when  they  feel  like  it.  So  we  have  to 
learn  to  manage  them.  And,  believe  me,  my 
child,  they  like  it — it's  what  they're  made  for!'  " 

"And  you  believe  such  things  as  that?" 

She  laughed,  a  superbly  cynical  laugh,  and 
began  to  gather  more  flowers.  "I  used  to  think 
they  were  cruel — when  I  was  young.  But  now 
I  know  that  Aunt  Lady  was  right.  What  else 
have  men  to  do  but  to  make  love  to  us?  Isn't 
it  better  for  them  than  getting  drunk,  or  gambling, 
or  breaking  their  necks  hunting  foxes?  'It's  the 
thing  that  lifts  them  above  the  brute,'  she  used 
to  say.  'Naturally,  the  more  of  them  you  lift, 
the  better.'  " 

"Did  she  teach  you  to  deceive  men  deliber 
ately?" 

"She  told  me  that  when  she  was  ordering  her 
wedding  trousseau,  she  was  engaged  to  a  dozen; 
a  cousin  of  hers  was  engaged  to  another  dozen, 
and  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  which  to  choose, 
so  she  sent  notes  to  them  all  to  say  that  she'd 
marry  the  man  who  got  to  her  first." 

He  smiled — his  slow,  quiet  smile.  Sylvia  did 
not  know  how  he  was  taking  these  things;  nor 
did  his  next  remark  enlighten  her.  "Did  it  not 


SYLVIA  LOVES  75 

surprise  you  to  be  taught  that  men  were  the 
centre  of  creation?" 

"No.     They  taught  me  that  God  was  a  man." 

He  laughed,  then  became  grave.  "Why  do 
you  need  so  many  men?  You  can't  marry  but 
one." 

"Not  in  the  South.  But  when  I  am  ready  to 
marry  that  one,  I  want  it  to  be  the  one  I  want; 
and  the  only  way  to  be  sure  is  to  have  a  great 
many  wanting  you.  When  a  man  sees  a  girl  so 
surrounded  with  suitors  that  he  can't  get  near 
her,  he  knows  it's  the  one  girl  hi  the  world  for 
him.  Aunt  Lady  had  a  saying  about  it,  full  of 
wisdom."  And  Sylvia  looked  very  wise  herself. 
"  'Men  are  sheep!'  " 

"I  see,"  he  said,  somewhat  grimly.  "I  fear, 
Miss  Castleman,  I  cannot  enter  such  a  com 
petition." 

"Is  it  cowardice?" 

"Perhaps.  It  has  been  said  that  discretion  is 
the  better  part  of  valor.  You  see,  to  me  love  is 
not  a  game,  but  a  reality.  It  could  never  be  that 
to  you,  I  fear." 

Poor  Sylvia!  She  was  trying  desperately  hard 
to  remember  and  make  use  of  her  training.  But 
the  rules  she  had  learned  were,  so  to  speak,  for 
fresh-water  sailing;  no  one  had  ever  thought 
that  her  frail  craft  might  be  blown  out  upon 
a  stormy  ocean  like  this.  Picture  her  as  a  terri 
fied  navigator,  striving  to  steer  with  a  broken 
rudder,  and  gazing  up  into  a  mountain-wave  that 
comes  roaring  down  upon  her! 


76  SYLVIA 

He  was  a  man  who  meant  what  he  said.  She 
had  tried  her  foolish  arts  upon  him  and  had  only 
disgusted  him.  He  was  going  away;  and  once 
he  had  left  her,  she  would  be  powerless  to  get  hold 
of  him  again! 

Love  could  never  be  a  reality  to  her,  he  had 
said.  With  sudden  tears  in  her  voice  she  ex 
claimed,  "It  could!  It  could!" 

His  whole  aspect  changed  in  a  moment.  A  fire 
seemed  to  leap  into  his  eyes.  "You  mean  that?" 
he  asked.  And  that  was  enough  for  her.  As 
he  moved  towards  her,  she  backed  away  a  step 
or  two.  She  thrust  out  the  great  bunch  of 
golden-rod,  filling  his  arms  with  that,  and  retreated 
farther  into  the  yellow  field. 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  nonplussed,  looking 
rather  comical  with  his  unexpected  load.  Then 
he  turned  away  without  a  word,  and  went  to 
where  his  horse  was  fastened,  and  began  to  tie 
the  flowers  to  his  saddle. 

She  joined  him  before  he  had  finished  and 
mounted  her  own  horse,  saying  casually,  "It  is 
late.  We  must  return."  He  mounted  and  rode 
beside  her  in  silence. 

At  last  he  remarked,  "You  are  going  away 
this  afternoon?" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Then  where  can  I  see  you?" 

"You  will  have  to  come  to  my  home." 

There  was  a  pause.  "It  will  be  a  difficult 
experience,"  he  observed.  "You  will  have  to 
help  me  through  it." 


SYLVIA  LOVES  77 

She  answered,  promptly,  "You  must  come  as 
any  other  man  would  come.  You  must  learn  to 
do  that — you  must  simply  not  know  what  other 
people  are  thinking." 

At  which  he  smiled  sadly.  "  There  is  nothing 
in" that.  When  everybody  in  the  world  is  think, 
ing  one  thing  about  you,  you  find  there's  no  use 
pretending  not  to  know  what  it  is." 

There  he  was  again — simple  and  direct.  He 
had  a  vision  of  the  hostility  of  her  relatives,  the 
horror  of  her  friends;  he  went  on  to  speak  his 
thoughts  quite  baldly.  Was  she  prepared  to  face 
these  difficulties?  She  might  have  the  courage, 
she  might  not;  but  at  least  she  must  be  fore 
warned,  and  not  encounter  them  blindly.  She 
said,  "My  own  people  will  be  kind,  I  assure  you." 
And  when  he  smiled  dubiously,  she  added, 
"Leave  it  to  me.  I  promise  you  I'll  manage 
them." 


§17 

SYLVIA,  as  you  know,  had  been  taught  to  dis 
cuss  the  affairs  of  her  heart  hi  the  language  of 
military  science.  Continuing  the  custom,  the 
fortress  of  her  coquetry  had  withstood  an  on 
slaught  which  had  brought  dismay  to  the  garri 
son,  who  had  never  before  known  what  it  was  to 
be  in  real  danger.  In  the  hope  of  restoring  con 
fidence  to  the  troops  there  was  now  undertaken 
a  raid  into  the  territory  of  perfectly  innocent  and 
defenseless  neighbors. 


78  SYLVIA 

The  first  victim  was  Charlie  Peyton.  He  had 
implored  one  last  opportunity  to  prove  his  devo 
tion — being  unable  to  imagine  how  his  devotion 
could  be  of  no  interest  to  Sylvia.  So  the  guests 
of  the  house-party  were  treated  to  the  amazing 
spectacle  of  this  dignified  and  self-conscious 
youth  standing  for  two  hours  in  the  crotch  of 
an  apple-tree.  Meanwhile  Sylvia  went  off  for 
a  walk  with  Malcolm  McCallum;  and  when  at 
last  Charlie's  time  was  up,  and  he  set  out  in 
search  of  her,  he  found  his  rival  occupied  in 
crawling  on  his  knees  the  length  of  a  splintery 
dock  which  ran  out  into  the  lake.  Sylvia  sat  by, 
absorbed  in  a  book,  and  when  Charlie  questioned 
her  as  to  the  meaning  of  this  strange  phenomenon, 
she  replied  that  Mr.  McCallum  (known  to  us 
previously  as  "the  Louisville  dandy")  was  prob 
ably  experimenting  with  the  creases  in  his  trousers. 

Dressing  for  luncheon  and  the  trip  home, 
Sylvia  had  a  consultation  with  her  friend  Harriet. 
"Do  you  suppose  I'm  really  in  love?"  was  her 
question. 

"With  whom?"  asked  Harriet. 

But  Sylvia  paid  no  heed  to  this  feeble  wit. 
"I  don't  think  he  approves  of  me,  Harriet.  He 
thinks  I'm  shallow  and  vain — a  trifler  with  hearts." 

"What  would  you  have  him  think?"  persisted 
the  other. 

"He  isn't  like  other  men,  Harriet.  He  makes 
me  ashamed  of  myself.  I  think  I  ought  to  treat 
him  differently." 

Whereat  her  friend  became  suddenly  serious. 


SYLVIA  LOVES  79 

"Look  here,  Sunny,  don't  you  lose  your  nerve! 
You  stick  to  your  game!" 

"But  suppose  he  won't  stand  it?" 

"Make  him  stand  it!  Take  my  advice,  now, 
and  don't  go  trying  experiments.  You've  learned 
one  way,  and  you're  a  wonder  at  it — don't  get 
yourself  mixed  up  at  the  critical  moment." 

Sylvia  was  gazing  at  herself  in  the  mirror, 
wondering  at  the  look  on  her  own  face.  "I  don't 
know  what  to  do  next!"  she  cried. 

"The  Lord  takes  care  of  children  and  fools," 
said  Harriet.  "I  hope  He's  on  His  job!"  Then 
the  luncheon  gong  sounded,  and  they  went  down 
stairs. 

There  was  a  new  man,  who  had  arrived  the 
night  before.  He  was  named  Pendleton,  and 
Sylvia  found  herself  placed  next  to  him.  She 
suspected  that  he  had  arranged  this,  and  was 
bored  by  the  prospect,  and  purposely  talked  with 
Charlie  Peyton  on  her  other  side.  Towards  the 
end  of  the  meal  a  servant  came  in  and  whispered 
to  the  hostess,  who  rose  suddenly  with  the  ex 
clamation,  "Frank  Shirley  is  here!"  Amid  the 
general  silence  that  fell  Sylvia  began  suddenly 
to  eat  with  assiduity. 

The  hostess  went  out,  and  returned  after  a 
minute  or  so  with  Frank  at  her  heels.  "Do  sit 
down,"  she  was  saying.  "At  least  have  some  of 
this  sherbet." 

"I've  had  my  luncheon,"  he  replied;  "I  sup 
posed  you'd  have  finished."  But  he  seated  him 
self  at  the  table,  as  requested.  There  was  a 


80  SYLVIA 

general  pause,  everybody  expecting  some  explana 
tion;  but  he  volunteered  none. 

Opposite  to  Sylvia  was  Belle  Johnston,  an 
insipid  young  person  who  had  a  reputation  for 
wit,  for  which  she  made  other  people  pay.  "Did 
you  think  it  looked  like  rain,  Mr.  Shirley?"  she 
inquired.  Sylvia  could  have  destroyed  her. 

"The  weather  is  very  pleasant,"  said  Frank. 
No  one  could  be  sure  whether  he  was  imperturb 
able,  or  had  missed  the  jest  altogether. 

Harriet,  seeing  her  friend's  alarming  appetite 
and  discomfort,  stepped  in  now  to  save  the 
situation.  "I  hope  you  brought  me  a  message 
from  your  sister,"  she  remarked.  "I  am  expect 
ing  one." 

But  Frank  would  have  none  of  any  such  de 
vices.  "I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "but  I  haven't 
brought  it." 

Sylvia  was  furious.  Had  he  no  tact,  no  social 
sense  at  all — not  even  any  common  gratitude? 
He  ought  to  have  waited  outside,  where  he  would 
have  been  less  conspicuous;  instead  of  sitting 
there,  dumb  as  an  oyster,  looking  at  her  and 
obviously  waiting  for  her!  Sooner  or  later  every 
one  must  notice. 

With  a  sudden  impulse  she  turned  to  the  man 
at  her  side.  "I  am  sorry  you  came  so  late,"  she 
said. 

"I  am  more  than  sorry,"  he  replied,  brighten 
ing  instantly. 

"I  really  must  go  home  this  afternoon,"  she 
said. 


SYLVIA  LOVES  81 

He  was  encouraged  by  her  tone  of  regret. 
"I  think  I  will  tell  you  something,"  he  said. 

"Well?" 

"I  came  here  on  purpose  to  meet  you.  I  was 
visiting  my  friends,  the  Aliens,  at  Thanksgiving, 
and  all  the  men  there  were  talking  of  you." 

This,  of  course,  was  ancient  history  to  Sylvia. 
"What  were  they  saying?"  she  asked — and  stole 
a  glance  at  Frank. 

"They  said  you'd  never  let  a  man  go  without 
hurting  him.  At  least,  not  if  you  thought  him 
worth  while." 

"Dear  me!"  she  exclaimed,  astonished  and 
flattered.  "I  wonder  that  you  weren't  afraid  to 
meet  me!" 

"I  was  amused,"  answered  the  other.  "I 
thought  to  myself,  I'd  like  to  see  her  hurt  me." 

Sylvia  lifted  her  delicate  eyebrows  and  gave 
him  a  slow,  quiet  stare,  four-fifths  scorn  and  one- 
fifth  challenge. 

"Gad!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  are  interesting 
for  a  fact!  When  you  look  like  that!" 

"Not  otherwise?"  she  inquired,  now  wholly 
scornful. 

"Oh,  you're  not  the  most  beautiful  woman 
I  ever  saw!  Nor  the  cleverest!" 

"Do  not  challenge  me  like  that." 

"Why  not?"  he  laughed. 

"You  might  regret  it." 

"It  would  be  a  good  adventure — I'd  be  willing 
to  pay  the  price  to  see  the  game.  I  admire  a 
woman  who  knows  her  business." 

,6 


82  SYLVIA 

So  the  banter  continued;  the  man  displaying 
his  cleverness  and  Sylvia  casting  upon  him 
glances  of  mockery,  of  contempt,  half  veiling 
curiosity  and  interest.  He,  of  course,  being 
secretly  convinced  of  his  own  irresistibility,  was 
noting  these  glances  and  speculating  about  them, 
thrilled  by  them  without  realizing  it,  persuading 
himself  that  the  girl  was  really  coming  to  admire 
him.  This  was  a  kind  of  encounter  which  had 
occurred,  not  once,  but  a  hundred  times  in  Sylvia's 
career,  and  usually  it  meant  nothing  in  particular 
to  her.  But  now  it  brought  a  reckless  joy,  be 
cause  of  the  shock  it  was  giving  to  that  other 
man — the  terrible  man  who  sat  across  the  way, 
his  eyes  boring  into  her  very  soul! 


§  18 

WHEN  the  luncheon  was  over,  Sylvia  made 
her  way  to  Harriet  Atkinson  and  caught  her  by 
the  arm.  "Harriet!"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
must  help  me!" 

"What?"  whispered  the  other. 

"I  can't  see  him!" 

"But  why  not?" 

"He  wants  to  lecture  me,  and  I  won't  stand 
I'm  going  into  the  garden — take  him  some 
where  else — you  must!"  Then,  seeing  Frank 
making  toward  her,  she  gave  Harriet  a  vicious 
pinch,  and  fled  from  the  room!  There  was  a 


SYLVIA  LOVES  83 

summer-house  in  the  garden  at  the  far  end,  and 
thither  she  went  upon  flying  feet. 

I  was  never  sure  how  it  happened — whether, 
as  Harriet  always  vowed,  she  tried  to  hold  Frank 
and  could  not,  or  whether  she  turned  traitor  to 
her  friend.  At  any  rate  Sylvia  had  been  there 
not  more  than  a  minute,  and  had  scarcely  begun 
to  get  control  of  herself,  when  she  heard  a  step, 
and  looking  up,  saw  Frank  Shirley  coming  down 
the  path. 

There  was  but  one  door  to  the  summer-house 
— and  he  soon  occupied  that.  "Go  away!"  she 
cried.  "Go  away!"  (That  was  all  that  was 
left  of  her  savoir  faire!} 

He  stopped.  "Miss  Castleman,"  he  said — and 
his  voice  was  hard,  "I  came  here  to  see  you.  But 
now  I'm  sorry  I  came." 

The  garrison  rallied  as  to  a  trumpet-call. 
"That  is  too  bad,  Mr.  Shirley,"  she  said,  with 
appalling  hauteur.  "But  you  know  you  do  not 
have  to  stay  an  instant." 

He  gazed  at  her  in  doubt  for  a  moment.  Her 
heart  was  pounding  and  the  color  flooding  her 
face.  "I  don't  believe  you  know  what  you  are 
doing!"  he  exclaimed. 

' '  Really !"  she  replied,  witheringly.    "  Do  you?" 

"No,"  he  went  on,  "I  don't  understand  you  at 
all.  But  I  simply  will  find  out!" 

He  strode  towards  her.  She  shrank  into  the 
seat,  but  he  caught  her  hands.  For  a  moment 
she  resisted;  but  he  held  fast,  and  from  his  hands 
she  felt  a  current  as  of  fire,  flowing  through  all 
her  veins. 


84  SYLVIA 

Slowly  he  drew  her  to  her  feet.  "Sylvia!"  he 
whispered.  "Sylvia!  Look  at  me!" 

She  obeyed  him  instinctively,  and  their  eyes 
met.  "You  love  me!"  he  exclaimed.  She  could 
hear  his  quick  breathing.  She  felt  herself  sinking 
towards  him.  She  felt  his  arms  about  her,  his 
breath  upon  her  cheek. 

"I  love  you!"  he  murmured.  And  she  closed 
her  eyes,  and  he  kissed  her  again  and  again.  In 
his  kisses  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  would  melt 
away. 

She  was  exultant  and  happy.  The  testimony 
of  his  love  was  rapture  to  her.  But  then  suddenly 
came  a  fear  which  they  had  inculcated  in  her. 
All  the  women  who  had  ever  talked  to  her  on  the 
problem  of  the  male-creature — all  agreed  that 
nothing  was  so  fatal  as  to  allow  the  taking  of 
"liberties."  Also  there  came  sudden  shame. 
She  began  to  struggle.  "You  must  not  kiss  me! 
It  is  not  right!" 

"But,  Sylvia!"  he  protested.     "I  love  you!" 

"Oh,  stop!"  she  pleaded.    "Stop!" 

"You  love  me!"  he  whispered. 

"Please,  please  stop!" 

A  gentle  pressure  would  have  held  her,  but 
she  felt  that  he  was  releasing  her — all  but  one 
hand.  She  sank  down  upon  the  seat,  trembling. 
"Oh,  you  ought  not  to  have  done  it!"  she  cried. 

He  asked,  "Why  not?" 

"No  man  has  ever  done  that  to  me  before!" 
The  thought  of  what  he  had  done,  the  memory 
of  his  lips  upon  her  cheek,  sent  the  blood  flying 


SYLVIA  LOVES  85 

there  in  hot  waves;  she  began  to  sob:  "No,  no! 
You  should  not  have  done  it!" 

" Sylvia!"  he  pleaded,  surprised  by  her  vehe 
mence.  "Don't  you  realize  that  you  love  me?" 

"I  don't  know!  I'm  afraid!  I  must  have 
time!"  She  was  weeping  convulsively  now. 
"You  will  never  respect  me  again!' 

"You  must  not  say  such  a  thing  as  that!  It 
is  not  true!" 

"You  will  go  away  and  remember  it,  and  you 
will  despise  me!" 

His  voice  was  calm  and  very  soothing.  "Sylvia," 
he  said,  "I  have  told  you  that  I  love  you.  And 
I  believe  that  you  love  me.  If  that  is  so,  I  had 
a  perfect  right  to  kiss  you,  and  you  had  a  perfect 
right  to  let  me  kiss  you." 

There  he  was,  sensible  as  ever;  Sylvia  found 
the  storm  of  her  emotion  dying  away.  She  had 
time  to  recall  one  of  the  maxims  of  Lady  Dee: 
"A  woman  should  never  let  a  man  see  her  weep 
ing.  It  makes  her  cheeks  pale  and  her  nose  red." 
She  resolved  that  she  would  stay  in  the  protect 
ing  shadows  of  the  summer-house  until  after  he 
had  departed. 


§  19 

SHE  went  home;  and  at  the  dinner-table  she 
was  telling  some  of  the  adventures  of  the  house- 
party.  "Oh,  by  the  way,"  she  said,  carelessly, 
"I  met  Frank  Shirley." 


86  SYLVIA 

"Really?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Castleman.  "Those 
poor,  unfortunate  people!" 

"He  must  be  quite  a  man  now/'  said  Aunt 
Varina.  "How  old  is  he?" 

"About  twenty-one,"  said  the  mother.  Sylvia 
was  amazed;  she  had  not  thought  definitely  of 
his  age,  but  he  had  seemed  a  mature  man  to  her. 

"I  see  him  now  and  then,"  put  in  the  Major. 
"He  comes  to  town.  Not  a  bad-looking  chap." 

"He  asked  if  he  might  call,"  said  Sylvia.  "I 
told  him,  Yes.  Was  that  right,  Papa?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  was  the  reply. 

"He  seems  a  very  shy,  silent  kind  of  man," 
she  added.  "He  wasn't  sure  that  he'd  be  wel 
come." 

"Why,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Castleman. 
"I'm  sure  we've  never  made  any  difference  in  our 
treatment  of  the  Shirleys!" 

"Bob  Shirley's  children  will  always  be  welcome 
to  my  home,  so  long  as  they  behave  themselves," 
declared  the  father. 

And  so  Sylvia  left  the  matter,  content  with 
their  attitude.  Frank  was  wrong  in  his  estimate 
of  her  family. 

Two  days  later  there  came  a  negro  man,  riding 
a  mule  and  carrying  a  bag,  with  a  note  from 
Frank.  He  begged  her  to  accept  this  present  of 
quail,  because  she  had  lost  so  much  of  her  hunting 
time,  and  Charlie  Peyton's  ami  had  been  so  bad. 
Sylvia  read  the  note,  and  got  from  it  a  pain 
ful  shock.  The  handwriting  was  boyish  and 
the  manner  of  expression  crude.  She  was  used 


SYLVIA  LOVES  87 

to  leisure-class  stationery,  with  her  monogram 
in  gold  at  the  top,  and  this  was  written  upon  a 
piece  of  cheap  paper.  Somehow  it  made  the 
whole  matter  seem  unreal  and  incredible  to  her. 
She  found  herself  trying  to  recall  how  he  looked. 

So  she  went  to  sleep;  and  awakening  early  the 
next  morning,  waiting  for  the  agreeable  tinkle  of 
the  approaching  coffee-cup — there  suddenly  he 
came  to  her!  Just  as  real  as  he  had  been  in  the 
summer-house,  with  his  breath  upon  her  cheek! 
The  delicious,  bunding  ecstasy  possessed  her 
again — and  then  fresh  humiliation  at  the  memory 
of  his  kisses!  Oh,  why  did  he  not  come  to  see 
her — instead  of  leaving  her  the  prey  of  her  fancy? 
She  could  not  escape  from  the  idea  that  she  had 
lost  his  respect  by  flinging  herself  at  his  head — • 
by  permitting  him  to  kiss  her. 

The  next  morning  came  the  negro  again,  this 
time  with  a  great  bunch  of  golden-rod.  "What 
a  present!"  exclaimed  the  whole  family;  but 
Sylvia  understood  and  was  happy.  "It's  because 
of  my  hah1,"  she  told  the  others,  laughing.  It 
must  be  that  he  loved  her,  despite  her  indis 
cretions! 

He  wrote  that  he  was  coming  to  see  her  that 
evening;  and  that  because  of  the  length  of  the 
ride,  he  would  accept  her  invitation  and  come  to 
dinner.  So  Sylvia  braced  herself  for  the  ordeal. 

She  dressed  very  simply,  so  as  not  to  attract 
attention.  Uncle  Mandeville  was  there,  and  two 
girl  cousins  from  Louisville,  visiting  the  family, 
and  two  of  the  Bishop's  boys  and  one  of  Barry 


88  SYLVIA 

Chilton's,  who  dropped  in  at  the  last  moment  to 
see  them.  That  was  the  way  at  Castleman  Hall 
—there  were  never  less  than  a  dozen  people  at 
any  meal,  and  the  cook  allowed  for  twenty.  To 
all  this  crowd  Sylvia  had  to  introduce  her  strange 
new  conquest,  ignoring  their  glances  of  inquiry 
and  parrying  their  mischievous  shafts. 

I  must  let  you  see  this  family  at  dinner.  At 
the  head  of  the  table  sits  the  Major,  with  gray 
hair  and  a  gray  imperial,  wearing  his  black  vest 
cut  so  low  that  he  can  plead  it  is  evening  dress; 
still  adhering  valiantly  to  the  custom  of  his 
fathers,  and  carving  the  roast  for  his  growing 
family,  while  the  littlest  girls,  who  come  last, 
follow  each  portion  with  hungry  eyes  and  count 
the  number  intervening.  At  the  foot  sits  Mrs. 
Castleman,  serving  the  salad  and  dessert,  her 
ample  figure  robed  in  satin.  "Miss  Margaret" 
is  just  at  that  stage  of  her  life,  after  the  birth 
of  the  son  and  heir,  when  she  has  definitely 
abandoned  the  struggle  with  an  expanding  waist 
line.  When  I  met  her,  some  years  later,  she 
weighed  two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds,  and 
was  the  best-natured  and  most  comically  in 
efficient  human  soul  I  have  ever  encountered  hi 
my  life. 

There  is  Aunt  Varina  Tuis,  humble  and  incon 
spicuous,  weary  after  a  day  of  trotting  up  and 
down  stairs  after  the  housekeeper,  to  see  that  the 
embroidered  napkins  were  counted  before  they 
went  to  the  laundry,  that  the  drawing-room  furni 
ture  was  dusted,  the  dead  flowers  taken  out  of 


SYLVIA  LOVES  89 

the  dining-room,  the  fleas  in  the  servants'  quarters 
kept  in  subjection.  Mrs.  Tuis'  queer  little  voice 
is  seldom  heard  at  the  dinner-table,  unless  she  is 
appealed  to  in  some  matter  of  family  history: 
whom  this  one  married,  whom  that  one  had 
been  engaged  to,  whether  or  not  it  was  true  that 
some  neighbor's  grandfather  had  kept  a  grocery 
store,  as  rumored. 

Then  there  is  Uncle  Mandeville,  home  to 
recuperate  from  a  spree  in  New  Orleans;  enor 
mous  in  every  direction,  rosy-faced  and  prosperous, 
with  a  resounding  laugh  and  an  endless  flow  of 
fun.  Beside  him  sits  Celeste,  the  next  daughter, 
presenting  a  curious  contrast  to  Sylvia,  with  her 
restless  black  eyes,  her  positive  manner  and 
worldly  view-point.  There  are  the  two  cousins 
from  Louisville,  healthy  and  radiant,  and  the 
two  Chilton  boys,  Clive  and  Harley,  and  Barry's 
boy,  who  is  a  giant  like  Uncle  Mandeville,  and 
whenever  he  laughs,  makes  the  cut  glass  to  rattle 
on  the  buffet. 

All  this  family  hunts  in  one  pack.  They  know 
all  each  other's  affairs,  and  take  an  interest  in 
them,  and  stand  together  against  the  rest  of  the 
world.  They  are  a  noisy  crew,  good-humored, 
careless,  but  with  hot  tempers  and  little  control 
of  them — so  that  when  their  interests  clash  and 
they  get 'on  one  another's  toes,  they  quarrel  as 
violently  as  before  they  loved.  Their  conversa 
tion  is  apt  to  be  bewildering  to  a  stranger,  for 
they  seldom  talk  about  general  questions,  having 
a  whole  arcanum  of  family  allusions  not  easily 


90  SYLVIA 

understood.  At  this  meal,  for  example,  they  are 
merry  for  half  an  hour  over  the  latest  tales  of  the 
doings  of  an  older  brother  of  Clive  and  Harley, 
who  has  married  a  girl  with  rich  parents,  but  is 
too  proud  to  take  a  dollar  from  them,  and  is 
forcing  his  bride  to  play  at  decent  poverty.  When 
the  provisions  run  out  they  visit  the  Bishop,  or 
the  Major,  or  Uncle  Barry,  as  may  be  most  con 
venient,  and  go  off  with  an  automobile-load  of 
hams  and  sausage-puddings  and  pickles  and 
preserves.  How  many  jokes  there  are,  and  what 
gales  of  merriment  go  round  the  table!  The 
Bishop's  son  the  first  kleptomaniac  in  the  family! 
Barry's  young  giant  declaring  that  a  single  smile 
from  the  bride  cost  his  father  a  cow  and  calf! 
The  little  girls,  Peggy  and  Maria,  chiming  in 
with  their  tale  of  how  the  predatory  couple  found 
a  lone  chicken  foraging  in  the  rose-garden,  con 
fiscated  it,  carried  it  off  under  Basil's  coat,  tied 
it  by  the  leg  under  the  piazza  at  the  back  of 
their  house  in  town — and  then  forgot  it  and  let 
it  starve  to  death! 

Sylvia  sat  watching  this  tableful  of  care-free, 
rollicking  people — the  men  handsome,  finely  built, 
well-fed  and  well-groomed,  the  women  delicate, 
soft-skinned  and  exquisitely  gowned — represent 
ing  the  best  type  their  civilization  could  produce. 
A  pleasant  scene  it  was,  with  snowy  damask  cloth 
and  bouquets  of  roses,  precious  old  silver  and 
quaint  hand-painted  china,  with  a  background  of 
mahogany  furniture  and  paneled  walls.  She 
watched  Frank  in  the  midst  of  it,  thinking  of  his 


SYLVIA  LOVES  91 

home  as  Harriet  had  pictured  it — the  people 
subdued  and  sombre,  the  stamp  of  poverty  upon 
everything.  She  was  glad  to  see  that  he  was 
able  to  fit  himself  into  the  mood  of  this  company, 
enjoying  the  sallies  of  fun  and  pleasing  those  he 
talked  to. 

The  house  being  full  of  young  couples  who 
wanted  to  be  alone,  Sylvia  took  Frank  into  the 
library.  She  liked  this  room,  with  its  red  leather 
furniture  and  cozy  fireplace,  and  queer  old  book 
cases  with  diamond-shaped  panes  of  glass.  She 
liked  it  because  the  lights  were  on  the  table,  and 
no  woman  looks  beautiful  when  lighted  from 
over  her  head.  This  may  seem  a  small  matter 
to  you,  but  Sylvia  had  learned  how  much  depends 
upon  detail.  She  remembered  one  of  the  maxims 
of  Lady  Dee:  "Get  a  man  on  your  home-ground, 
where  you  can  have  things  as  you  want  them; 
and  then  place  your  chair  to  show  the  best  side 
of  your  face." 

These  things  I  set  down  as  Sylvia  told  them 
to  me — a  long  time  afterwards,  when  we  could 
laugh  over  them.  It  was  a  fact  about  her  all  the" 
way  through,  that  whatever  she  did,  good  or  bad, 
she  knew  why  she  was  doing  it.  In  this  she 
differed  from  a  good  many  other  women,  who 
are  not  honest,  even  with  themselves,  and  who 
feel  that  things  become  vulgar  only  when  they 
are  mentioned.  The  study  of  her  own  person 
and  its  charms  was  of  course  the  very  essence  of 
her  role  as  a  "  belle."  At  every  stage  of  her 
life  she  had  been  drilled  and  coached — how  to 


92  SYLVIA 

dance,  how  to  enter  a  drawing-room,  how  to 
receive  a  compliment,  how  to  toy  with  a  suitor. 
At  Miss  Abercrombie's,  the  young  ladies  had 
an  etiquette  teacher  who  gave  them  instructions 
in  the  most  minute  details  of  their  deportment; 
not  to  bend  your  body  too  much,  but  mainly 
your  knees,  when  you  sat  down;  not  to  let  your 
hands  lie  flat  at  your  sides,  but  to  turn  your 
little  fingers  gracefully  out;  never  to  hesitate 
or  think  of  yourself  when  entering  a  room,  but 
to  fix  your  thoughts  upon  some  person,  and 
move  towards  that  person  with  decision.  Sylvia 
had  needed  this  last  instruction  especially,  for 
in  the  beginning  she  had  had  a  terrible  time 
entering  rooms.  It  should  be  a  comfort  to  some 
would-be  belles  to  know  that  Sylvia  Castleman, 
who  attained  in  the  end  to  such  eminence  in  her 
profession,  was  at  the  outset  a  terrified  child  with 
shaking  knees  and  chattering  teeth,  who  never 
would  have  gone  anywhere  of  her  own  choice! 


§  20 

Now  she  was  ready  to  try  out  all  these  instruc 
tions  upon  Frank.  The  scene  was  set  and  lighted, 
the  curtain  rose — but  somehow  there  was  a  hitch 
in  the  performance.  Frank  was  moody  again. 
He  sat  staring  before  him,  frowning  somberly; 
and  she  looked  at  him  in  a  confusion  of  anxieties. 
He  did  not  love  her  after  all — she  had  simply 


SYLVIA   LOVES  93 

seized  upon  him  and  compelled  his  attention,  and 
now  he  was  longing  to  extricate  himself!  Even 
if  this  were  not  true,  it  would  soon  come  to  that, 
for  she  could  think  of  nothing  interesting  to  say, 
and  he  would  be  bored. 

She  racked  her  wits.  What  could  she  talk 
about  to  a  man  who  knew  none  of  her  "set," 
who  never  went  to  balls  or  dinners,  who  could 
not  conceivably  care  about  polite  gossip?  Why 
didn't  he  say  something — the  silent  man!  What 
manners  to  take  into  company! 

"I  must  make  him  look  at  me,"  she  resolved. 
So  without  saying  a  word,  she  began  taking  a 
rose  from  her  corsage  and  adjusting  it  in  her  hair. 
The  motion  distracted  him,  and  she  saw  that  he 
was  watching.  She  had  him! 

"Is  that  hi  right?"  she  asked.  Of  course  a  la 
France  rose  in  perfectly  arranged  hair  is  always 
"in  right,"  and  Sylvia  knew  it.  Her  little  device 
failed  abjectly,  for  Frank  answered  simply  "Yes," 
and  began  staring  into  space  again. 

She  tried  once  more,  contenting  herself  with 
the  barest  necessities  of  conversation.  "Did  you 
shoot  those  quail  yourself?" 

Then  he  turned.  "Miss  Sylvia,  I  have  some 
thing  I  must  say  to  you.  I've  had  tune  to  think 
things  over."  He  paused. 

Ah,  now  it  was  coming!  He  had  had  time  to 
think  things  over — and  he  called  her  "Miss 
Sylvia!"  Something  cried  out  in  her  to  make 
haste  and  release  him  before  he  asked  it.  But 
she  could  not  speak — she  was  as  if  pinned  by  a 
lance. 


94  SYLVIA 

He  went  on.  "Miss  Sylvia,  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  that  love  was  not  for  me.  I  knew  that 
to  women  of  my  own  class  I  was  a  man  with  a 
tainted  name — a  convict's  son;  and  I  would 
rather  die  than  marry  L~°neath  me.  So  I  shut  up 
my  heart,  and  when  I  met  *  woman,  I  turned 
and  went  away — as  I  tried  to  do  with  you.  But 
you  would  not  have  it,  and  I  could  not  resist 
you.  I've  been  amazed  at  the  intensity  of  my 
own  feelings;  it's  something  I  could  not  have 
dreamed  of — and  unless  I'm  mistaken,  it's  been 
the  same  with  you." 

It  was  a  bold  man  who  could  use  words  such 
as  those  to  Sylvia.  To  what  merciless  teasing  he 
laid  himself  open!  But  she  only  drew  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief.  He  still  loved  her! 

"I  forced  myself  to  stay  away,"  he  continued, 
without  waiting  for  her  to  answer.  "I  said,  'I 
must  not  go  near  her  again.  I  must  run  away 
somewhere  and  get  over  it.'  And  then  again 
I  said,  'I  can  make  her  happy — I  will  marry  her.' 
I  said  that,  but  I'm  not  going  to  do  it." 

He  paused.  Oh,  what  a  voice  he  had!  Sylvia 
felt  the  blood  ebbing  and  flowing  in  her  cheeks, 
pounding  in  her  ears.  She  could  not  hear  his 
words  very  well — but  he  loved  her! 

"Sylvia,"  he  was  saying,  earnestly — as  if  half 
to  convince  himself — "we  must  both  of  us  wait. 
You  must  have  tune  to  consider  what  loving  me 
would  mean.  You  have  all  these  people — happy 
people;  and  I  have  nothing  like  that  in  my  life. 
Yon  have  this  beautiful  home,  expensive  clothes — 


SYLVIA  LOVES  95 

every  luxury.  But  I  am  a  poor  man.  I  have 
only  a  mortgaged  plantation,  with  a  mother  and 
a  brother  and  two  sisters  to  share  it.  I  have  no 
career — I  have  not  even  an  education.  All  your 
uncles,  your  cousins,  your  suitors,  are  college 
men,  and  I  am  a  plain  farmer.  So  I  face  what 
seems  to  me  the  worst  temptation  a  man  could 
have.  I  see  you,  and  you  are  everything  in  the 
world  that  is  desirable;  and  I  believe  that  I  could 
win  you  and  carry  you  away  from  here.  My 
whole  being  cries  out,  'Go  and  take  her!  She 
loves  you!  She  wants  you  to!'  But  instead,  I 
have  to  come  here  and  say,  'Think  it  over.  Make 
sure  of  your  feelings;  that  it's  not  simply  a  flush 
of  excitement.'  You  being  the  kind  of  tender 
hearted  thing  you  are,  it  might  so  easily  be  a 
romantic  imagining  about  a  man  who's  apart 
from  other  men — one  you  feel  sorry  for  and  would 
like  to  help!  You  see  what  I  mean?  It  isn't 
easy  for  me  to  say  it,  but  I'd  be  a  coward  if  I 
didn't  say  it — and  mean  it — and  stand  by  it." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Sylvia  was  thinking. 
How  different  it  was  from  other  men's  love- 
making!  There  was  Malcolm  McCallum,  who 
had  taken  her  driving  yesterday,  and  had  said 
what  they  all  said:  " Never  mind  if  you  don't 
love  me — marry  me,  and  let  me  teach  you  to 
love  me."  In  other  words,  "Stake  your  life's 
happiness  upon  a  blind  chance,  at  the  command 
of  my  desire."  Of  course  they  would  surround 
her  with  all  the  external  things  of  life,  build  her 
a  great  house  and  furnish  it  richly,  deck  her  with 


96  SYLVIA 

silks  and  jewels  and  supply  her  with  servants. 
All  the  world  would  come  to  admire  her,  and 
then  she  would  be  so  grateful  to  her  generous 
lord  that  she  could  not  but  love  him. 

Her  voice  was  low  as  she  answered,  "A  woman 
does  not  really  care  about  the  outside  things. 
She  wants  love  most.  She  wants  to  be  sure  of 
her  heart — but  of  the  man's  heart  too." 

"As  to  that,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  trust  myself 
to  speak.  You  are  the  loveliest  vision  that  has 
ever  come  to  me.  You  are " 

"I  know,"  she  interrupted.  "But  that,  too, 
is  mostly  surface.  I  am  luxurious,  I  am  artificial 
and  shallow — a  kind  of  butterfly."  This  was 
what  she  said  to  men  when  she  wished  to  be 
most  deadly.  But  now  she  really  meant  it; 
there  was  a  mist  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"That  is  nothing,"  he  answered.  "I  am  not 
such  a  fool  that  I  can't  see  all  that.  There  are 
two  people  in  you,  as  hi  all  of  us.  The  question 
is,  which  do  you  want  to  be?" 

"How  can  I  say?"  she  murmured.  "It  would 
be  a  question  of  whether  you  loved  me " 

"Ah,  Sylvia!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  pain  that 
startled  her.  And  suddenly  he  rose  and  began  to 
pace  the  room.  "I  cannot  talk  about  my  feeling 
for  you,"  he  said.  "I  made  up  my  mind  before 
[  came  here  that  I  would  not  woo  you — not  if 
I  had  to  bite  off  my  tongue  to  prevent  it.  I  said, 
'I  will  explain  to  her,  and  then  I  will  go  away  and 
give  her  time.'  I  want  to  play  fair.  I  want  to 
know  that  I  have  played  fair." 


SYLVIA  LOVES  97 

As  he  stood  there,  she  could  see  the  knotted 
tendons  in  his  hands,  she  could  see  the  agitation 
of  his  whole  being.  And  suddenly  a  great  current 
took  her  and  bore  her  to  him.  She  put  her  hands 
upon  his  shoulders,  whispering,  "Frank!'1 

He  stood  stiff  and  silent. 

"I  love  you!"  she  said.  "I  love  you!"  She 
gave  a  little  sob  of  happiness;  and  he  caught  her 
in  his  arms  and  pressed  her  to  his  bosom,  crush 
ing  all  her  roses,  and  stifling  her  words  with  his 
kisses.  And  so,  a  few  minutes  later,  Sylvia  was 
lying  back  hi  her  favorite  chair,  with  the  satis 
faction  of  knowing  at  last  that  he  was  looking 
at  her.  A  couple  of  hours  later,  when  he  went 
away,  it  was  as  her  plighted  lover. 


§  21 

FRANK  came  again  two  days  later;  and  then 
Mrs.  Castleman  made  her  first  remark.  ' '  Sylvia, ' ' 
she  said,  "you  mustn't  flirt  with  that  man." 

"Why  not,  Mother?" 

"Because  he'd  probably  take  it  seriously.  And 
he's  had  a  hard  time,  you  know.  We  can't  treat 
the  Shirleys  quite  as  we  do  other  people." 

"All  right,"  said  Sylvia.     "I'll  be  careful." 

Frank  wanted  the  engagement  made  known  at 
once — at  least  to  the  family.  Such  was  his  direct 
way.  But  Sylvia  had  an  instinct  against  telling; 
she  wanted  a  little  time  to  watch  and  study  and 
plan. 


98  SYLVIA 

It  was  hard,  however;  she  was  absolutely  shin 
ing  with  happiness — there  seemed  to  be  a  kind 
of  soul-electricity  that  came  from  her  and  affected 
everyone  she  met.  It  gathered  the  men  about 
her  thicker  than  ever — and  at  the  very  time  that 
she  wanted  to  be  alone  with  Frank  and  the 
thought  of  Frank! 

One  evening  when  the  Young  Matrons'  Club 
gave  its  monthly  cotillion,  Frank,  knowing  noth 
ing  about  this  event,  called  unexpectedly.  A 
visit  meant  to  him  forty  miles  on  horseback; 
and  so,  to  the  general  consternation,  Sylvia  refused 
to  attend  the  dance.  All  evening  the  telephone 
rang  and  the  protests  poured  in.  "We  won't 
stand  for  it!"  the  men  declared;  and  the  women 
asked,  "Who  is  it?"  She  had  been  to  a  bridge- 
party  that  afternoon,  and  everyone  knew  she  was 
not  sick.  But  what  man  could  it  be,  when  all 
the  men  were  at  the  cotillion? 

So  the  gossip  began;  and  a  week  later  another 
incident  gave  it  wings.  It  was  a  great  occasion, 
the  semi-annual  ball  of  the  Country  Club,  and 
Frank  had  been  warned  that  Sylvia  would  not  be 
at  home.  But  he  wanted  to  see  her  in  her  glory, 
and  he  galloped  his  twenty  miles  in  darkness  and 
ram,  and  turned  up  at  the  club-house  at  mid 
night,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  to  watch.  Sylvia, 
seeing  him  and  realizing  what  his  presence  meant, 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  acknowledge 
him.  She  stopped  dancing,  and  sent  her  partner 
away,  and  stood  talking  to  Frank.  Oh,  what  a 
staring,  what  a  wagging  of  tongues!  Frank 


SYLVIA  LOVES  99 

Shirley!      Of   all   people   hi   the   world,    Frank 
Shirley! 

Of  course,  the  news  came  to  the  Hall.  Early 
in  the  morning,  Aunt  Nannie  called  up,  announc 
ing  a  visit,  and  there  followed  a  family  conclave 
with  Mrs.  Castleman,  Aunt  Varina  and  Sylvia. 

"Sylvia,"  said  Mrs.  Chilton,  trying  her  best  to 
look  casual,  "I  understand  that  Frank  Shirley 
was  at  the  ball." 

"Yes,  Aunt  Nannie." 

There  was  a  pause.  "What  was  he  doing 
there?"  asked  "Miss  Margaret,"  evidently  having 
been  coached. 

"Why,  I'm  sure,  Mother,  I  don't  know." 

"Did  you  invite  him?" 

"Indeed,  I  did  not." 

"He  isn't  a  member  of  the  Club,  is  he?" 

"No;  but  he  knows  lots  of  other  people  who 
are." 

"Everybody  is  saying  he  came  to  see  you," 
broke  in  Aunt  Nannie.  "They  say  you  stopped 
dancing  to  talk  with  him." 

"I  can't  help  what  they  say,  Aunt  Nannie." 

"Do  you  think,"  inquired  the  Bishop's  wife, 
"that  it  was  altogether  wise  to  get  your  name 
associated  with  his?" 

"Isn't  he  a  gentleman?"  asked  Sylvia. 

"That's  all  right,  my  dear,  but  you've  got  to 
remember  that  you  live  in  the  world,  and  must 
consider  other  people's  point  of  view." 

"Do  you  mean,  Aunt  Nannie,  that  Frank 
Shirley's  to  be  excluded  from  society  because  of 
his  father's  misfortune?" 


100  SYLVIA 

"Not  excluded,  Sylvia.  There  are  shades  to 
such  things.  The  point  is  that  a  young  girl — 
a  girl  conspicuous,  like  you ' 

"But,  Aunt  Nannie,  I  asked  mother  and  father, 
and  they  were  willing  to  receive  him.  Isn't 
that  true,  Mother?" 

"Why,  yes,  Sylvia,"  said  "Miss  Margaret," 
weakly,  "but  I  didn't  mean " 

"It  was  all  right  for  him  to  come  here,  once 
or  twice,"  interrupted  Aunt  Nannie.  "But  at  a 
Club  ball " 

"The  point  is,  Sylvia  dear,"  quavered  Mrs.  Tuis, 
"you  will  get  yourself  a  reputation  for  singularity." 

And  the  mother  added,  "You  surely  don't  have 
to  do  that  to  attract  attention!" 

So  there  it  was.  All  that  fine  sentiment  about 
the  unhappy  Shirleys  went  like  a  film  of  mist 
before  a  single  breath  of  the  world's  opinion! 
They  would  not  say  it  brutally — "He's  a  con 
vict's  son,  and  you  can't  afford  to  know  him 
too  well."  It  was  not  the  Southern  fashion — at 
least  among  the  older  generation — to  be  out 
spoken  hi  worldliness.  They  had  generous  ideals, 
and  made  their  boast  of  "chivalry;"  but  here, 
when  it  came  to  a  test,  they  were  all  in  accord  with 
Aunt  Nannie,  who  was  said  to  "talk  like  a  cold 
blooded  Northern  woman." 

Sylvia  decided  at  once  that  some  one  must 
be  told;  so  she  went  back  to  lunch  with  her  aunt, 
and  afterwards  sought  out  the  Bishop  in  his 
study.  The  walls  of  this  room  were  lined  with 
ancient  theological  treatises  and  sermons  in  faded 


SYLVIA  LOVES  101 

greenish-black  bindings:  an  array  which  never 
failed  to  appal  the  soul  of  Sylvia,  who  realized 
that  she  had  consigned  to  the  scrap-heap  all  this 
mass  of  learning — and  had  not  yet  apologized  for 
her  temerity. 

"Uncle  Basil,"  she  began,  "I  have  something 
very,  very  important  to  tell  you."  The  Bishop 
turned  from  his  desk  and  gazed  at  her.  "I  am 
engaged  to  be  married,"  she  said. 

"Why,  Sylvia!"  he  exclaimed. 

"And  I — I'm  very  much  in  love." 

"Who  is  the  man,  my  dear?" 

"It  is  Frank  Shirley." 

Sylvia  was  used  to  watching  people  and  read 
ing  their  thoughts  quickly.  She  saw  that  her 
uncle's  first  emotion  was  one  of  dismay.  "Frank 
Shirley!" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Basil.'5 

Then  she  saw  him  gather  himself  together. 
He  was  going  to  try  to  be  fair — the  dear  soul! 
But  she  could  not  forget  that  his  first  emotion 
had  been  dismay.  "Tell  me  about  it,  my  child," 
he  said. 

"I  met  him  at  the  Venable's,"  she  replied, 
"only  a  couple  of  weeks  ago.  He's  an  unusual 
sort  of  man,  lonely  and  unhappy,  very  reserved 
and  hard  to  get  at.  He  fell  in  love  with  me— 
very  much  in  love;  but  he  didn't  want  me  to 
know  it.  He  did  tell  me  at  last." 

The  Bishop  was  silent.  "I  love  him,"  she 
added. 

"Are  you  sure?" 


102  SYLVIA 

"As  I've  never  loved  anybody — as  I  never 
dreamed  I  could  love." 

There  was  a  pause.  "  Uncle  Basil — he's  a  good 
man,"  she  said.  "That  is  why  I  love  him." 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  "Have  you  told 
your  father  and  mother?"  asked  the  Bishop. 

"Not  yet." 

"You  must  tell  them  at  once,  Sylvia." 

"I  know  they  will  make  objections,  and  I  want 
you  to  meet  Frank  and  talk  with  him.  You  see, 
Uncle  Basil,  I'm  going  to  marry  him — and  I 
want  your  help." 

The  Bishop  was  silent  again,  weighing  his 
next  words.  "Of  course,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
"from  a  worldly  point  of  view  it  is  not  a  good 
match,  and  I  fear  your  parents  will  regard  it  as 
a  calamity.  But,  as  you  know,  I  think  of  nothing 
but  the  happiness  of  my  darling  Sylvia.  I  won't 
say  anything  at  all  until  I  have  met  the  man. 
Send  him  to  see  me,  little  girl,  and  then  I  will 
give  you  the  best  counsel  I  can." 


§  22 

FRANK  went  to  pay  his  call  the  next  day,  and 
then  came  back  to  Sylvia.  "He's  a  dear  old 
man,"  he  said.  "And  he  wants  what  is  best 
for  you." 

"What  does  he  want?"  demanded  Sylvia. 

"He  says  we  should  not  marry  now — that  I 


SYLVIA  LOVES  103 

ought  to  be  better  able  to  take  care  of  you. 
And  of  course  he's  right." 

There  was  a  pause;  then  suddenly  Frank 
exclaimed,  "Sylvia,  I  can't  be  just  a  farmer  if 
I'm  going  to  marry  you." 

"What  can  you  be,  Frank?"< 

"I'm  going  to  go  to  college."^ 

"But  that  would  take  four  years!" 

"No,  it  needn't.  I  could  dig  in  and  get  into 
the  Sophomore  class  this  winter.  I've  been 
through  a  military  academy,  and  I  was  going  to 
Harvard,  where  my  father  and  my  grandfather 
went,  but  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  come 
home  and  see  to  the  place.  But  now  my  brother 
has  grown  up,  and  he  has  a  good  head  for  busi 
ness." 

"What  would  you  do  ultimately?" 

"I've  always  wanted  to  study  law,  and  I  think 
now  I  ought  to.  Nobody  is  going  to  be  willing 
for  us  to  marry  at  once;  and  they're  much  less 
apt  to  object  to  me  if  I'm  seriously  going  to  make 
something  of  myself." 

Sylvia  went  over  the  next  morning  to  get  her 
uncle's  blessing.  The  good  Bishop  gave  it  to 
her — together  with  some  exhortations  which  he 
judged  she  needed.  They  were  summed  up  in 
one  sentence  which  he  pronounced:  "There  is 
nothing  more  unhappy  in  this  world  than  a 
serious-minded  man  with  a  worldly-minded  wife." 
Poor  old  Uncle  Basil,  with  his  snow-white  hair 
and  his  patient,  saintly  face,  worn  with  care — 
how  much  of  his  own  soul  he  put  into  that 


104  SYLVIA 

utterance!  Sylvia  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  let  the  tears  run  down  upon  his  coat. 

After  a  while,  he  remarked,  "Sylvia,  your  aunt 
saw  Frank  come  here." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Sylvia.  "You  don't  mean 
that  she'll  guess!" 

"She's  very  clever  at  guessing,  my  child." 
So  Sylvia,  as  she  rode  home,  realized  that  she 
had  no  more  time  to  lose.  When  she  got  to  the 
Hall,  she  set  to  work  at  once  to  carry  out  her 
plans. 

She  found  her  Aunt  Varina  in  her  room  with 
a  headache.  On  her  dressing-table  was  a  picture 
of  the  late-lamented  Mr.  Tuis,  which  Sylvia  picked 
up.  By  manifesting  a  little  interest  in  it,  she 
quickly  got  her  aunt  to  talking  on  the  subject 
of  matrimony. 

Mrs.  Tuis  was  the  youngest  of  the  Major's 
sisters.  In  the  face  of  the  protests  of  her  rela 
tives  she  had  married  a  comparatively  "com 
mon"  man,  who  was  poor  and  had  turned  out 
to  be  a  drunkard,  and  after  leading  Aunt  Varina 
a  dog's  life,  had  taken  chloral.  So  Mrs.  Tuis  had 
come  back  to  eat  the  bread  of  charity — which, 
though  it  was  liberally  sweetened  with  affection, 
had  also  a  slightly  bitter  taste  of  compassion. 

Her  ill-fated  romance  was  a  poor  thing,  per 
haps — but  her  own.  As  she  told  it  her  bosom 
fluttered  and  the  tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks; 
and  when  she  had  got  to  a  state  of  complete 
deliquescence,  her  niece  whispered:  "Oh,  Aunt 
Varina,  I'm  so  glad  you  believe  in  love!  Aunt 


SYLVIA  LOVES  105 

Varina,  will  you  keep  a  solemn  secret  if  I  tell 
it  to  you?" 

And  so  came  the  story  of  the  amazing  engage 
ment.  Mrs.  Tuis  listened  with  wide-open,  startled 
eyes,  every  now  and  then  whispering,  "Sylvia! 
Sylvia!"  Of  course  she  was  thrilled  to  the  deeps 
of  her  soul  by  it;  and  of  course,  in  the  mood 
that  she  had  been  caught,  she  could  not  possibly 
refuse  her  sympathy.  "You  must  help  me  with 
the  others,"  said  the  girl.  "I'm  going  to  tell 
mother  next." 


§  23 

THE  first  thing  that  struck  you  about  "Miss 
Margaret"  was  her  appalling  incompetence.  But 
underneath  it  lay  the  most  exclusively  maternal 
soul  imaginable.  She  had  nursed  her  children 
when  they  were  almost  two  years  old,  great 
healthy  calves  running  about  the  place  and 
standing  up  to  suck;  she  had  rocked  them  to 
sleep  in  her  arms  when  they  were  big  enough 
to  be  reading  Virgil;  she  had  shed  as  many  tears 
over  a  broken  finger  as  most  mothers  shed  over 
a  funeral.  She  wanted  her  daughters  to  be 
happy,  and  to  this  end  she  would  give  them 
anything  that  civilization  provided;  she  would 
even  be  willing  that  one  of  them  should  marry 
a  man  whose  father  "wore  stripes" — so  far  as 
she  was  concerned,  and  so  long  as  she  remained 
alone  with  the  daughter.  You  must  picture  her, 


106  SYLVIA 

clasping  Sylvia  in  her  arms  and  weeping  from 
general  agitation;  moved  to  pity  by  the  tale  of 
Frank's  loneliness,  moved  to  awe  by  the  tale  of 
his  goodness — but  then  suddenly  smitten  as  by 
a  thunderbolt  with  the  thought:  "What  will 
people  say!  What  will  your  Aunt  Nannie  say!" 

While  Sylvia  was  bent  upon  having  her  way, 
you  must  not  imagine  that  she  did  not  feel  any 
of  these  emotions.  /Although  she  was  mostly 
Lady  Lysle,  her  far-off  ancestress,  she  was  also 
a  little  of  "Miss  Margaret,"  and  was  almost 
capsized  in  these  gales  of  emotion.  She  remem 
bered  a  hundred  scenes  of  tenderness  and  devo 
tion;  she  clasped  the  great  girl-mother  in  her 
arms,  and  mingled  their  tears  and  vowed  that 
she  would  never  do  anything  to  make  her  un 
happy.  It  was  a  lachrymal  lane — this  pathway 
of  Sylvia's  engagement! 

With  her  father  she  took  a  different  line.  She 
got  the  Major  alone  in  his  office  and  talked  to 
him  solemnly,  not  about  love  and  romance,  but 
about  Frank  Shirley's  character.  She  knew  that 
the  Major  was  disturbed  by  the  wildness  of  the 
young  men  of  the  world  about  him;  she  had 
heard  him  discuss  the  pace  at  which  Aunt  Nan 
nie's  boys  were  traveling.  And  here  was  a  man 
who  had  sowed  no  wild  oats,  and  had  learned  the 
lesson  of  self-control. 

She  was  surprised  at  the  way  the  Major  took 
it.  He  clutched  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  went 
white  when  he  caught  the  import  of  her  dis 
course;  but  he  heard  her  to  the  end,  and  then 


SYLVIA  LOVES  107 

sat  for  a  long  while  in  silence.  Finally,  he  in 
quired,  "Sylvia,  did  anybody  ever  tell  you  why 
your  Uncle  Laurence  killed  himself?" 

"No,"  she  replied. 

"He  was  engaged  to  a  girl,  and  her  parents 
made  her  break  off  the  match.  I  never  knew 
why;  but  it  ruined  the  girl's  life,  as  well  as  his, 
and  it  made  a  terrible  impression  on  me.  So  I 
made  a  vow — and  now,  I  suppose,  is  the  time  I 
have  to  keep  it.  I  said  I  would  never  interfere 
in  a  love-affair  of  one  of  my  children!" 

Sylvia  was  deeply  affected,  not  only  by  his 
words,  but  by  the  intense  agitation  which  she 
saw  he  was  repressing.  "Papa,  does  it  seem  so 
very  dreadful  to  you?"  she  asked. 

Again  there  was  a  long  wait  before  he  an 
swered.  "It  is  something  quite  different  from 
what  I  had  expected,"  he  said.  "It  will  make 
a  difference  in  your  whole  life — to  an  extent 
which  I  fear  you  cannot  realize." 

"But  if  I  really  love  him,  Papa?" 

"If  you  really  love  him,  my  dear,  then  I  will 
not  try  to  oppose  you.  But  oh,  Sylvia,  be  sure 
that  you  love  him!  You  must  promise  me  to 
wait  until  I  can  be  sure  you  are  not  mistaken 
about  that." 

"I  expect  to  wait,  Papa,"  she  said.  "There 
will  be  no  mistake." 

They  talked  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  then 
Sylvia  went  to  her  room.  Half  an  hour  later 
"Aunt  Sarah,"  the  cook,  came  flying  to  her  in 
great  agitation.  "Miss  Sylvia,  what's  de  matter 
wid  yo'  papa?" 


108  SYLVIA 

"What?"  cried  Sylvia,  springing  up. 

"He's  sittin'  on  a  log  out  beyan'  de  garden, 
cryin'  fo'  to  break  his  heart!" 

Sylvia  fled  to  the  spot,  and  fell  upon  her 
knees  by  him  and  flung  her  arms  about  him, 
crying,  "Papa,  Papa!"  He  was  still  sobbing; 
she  had  never  seen  him  exhibit  such  emotion  in 
her  life  before,  and  she  was  terrified.  "Papa, 
what  is  it?" 

She  felt  him  shudder  and  control  himself. 
"Nothing,  Sylvia.  I  can't  tell  you." 

"Papa,"  she  whispered,  "do  you  object  to 
Frank  Shirley  as  much  as  that?" 

"No,  my  dear — it  isn't  that.  It's  that  the 
whole  thing  has  knocked  me  off  my  feet.  My 
little  girl  is  going  away  from  me — and  I  didn't 
know  she  was  grown  up  yet.  It  made  me  feel 
so  old!" 

He  looked  at  her,  trying  to  smile  and  feeling 
a  little  ashamed  of  his  tears.  She  looked  into 
the  dear  face,  and  it  seemed  withered  and 
wrinkled  all  of  a  sudden.  She  realized  with  a 
pang  how  much  he  really  had  aged.  He  was 
working  so  hard — she  would  see  him  at  his  ac 
counts  late  at  night,  when  she  was  leaving  for  a 
ball,  and  would  feel  ashamed  for  her  joys  that  he 
had  to  pay  for.  "Oh,  Papa,  Papa!"  she  cried, 
"I  ought  to  marry  a  rich  man!" 

"My  child,"  he  exclaimed,  "don't  let  me  hear 
you  say  a  thing  like  that!" 

Poor,  poor  Major!  He  said  it  and  he  meant 
it;  he  was,  I  think,  the  most  naive  of  all  the 


SYLVIA   LOVES  109 

members  of  his  family.  He  was  a  "Southern 
gentleman,"  not  a  business  man;  he  hated  money 
with  his  whole  soul — hated  it,  even  while  he  spent 
it  and  enjoyed  what  it  brought  him.  He  was 
like  a  chip  of  wood  caught  in  a  powerful  current; 
swept  through  rapids  and  over  cataracts,  to  his 
own  boundless  bewilderment  and  dismay. 


§  24 

"HE  is  without  any  pride  of  family."  That 
had  been  the  verdict  upon  the  Major  pronounced 
by  his  mother,  who  had  been  a  grand  lady  in  her 
own  day.  She  would  turn  to  her  eldest  daughter 
and  say,  "Look  after  him,  Nannie!  Make  him 
keep  his  shoes  shined!"  And  so  now,  towards 
the  end  of  their  conference,  Sylvia  and  her  father 
found  themselves  looking  at  each  other  and  say 
ing,  "What  wilt  Aunt  Nannie  say?"  Sylvia 
was  laughing,  but  all  the  same  she  had  not  the 
nerve  to  face  her  aunt,  and  'phoned  the  Bishop 
to  ask  him  to  break  the  news. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  energetic  lady's  automo 
bile  was  heard  at  the  door.  And  now  behold, 
a  grand  council,  with  the  Major  and  his  wife, 
Mrs.  Chilton,  Mrs.  Tuis,  Mr.  Mandeville  Castle- 
man,  Sylvia  and  Celeste — the  last  having  learned 
that  something  startling  had  happened,  and  being 
determined  to  find  out  about  it. 

"Now,"  began  Aunt  Nannie,  "what  is  this 
that  Basil  has  been  trying  to  tell  me?" 


110  SYLVIA 

There  was  no  reply. 

"Mandeville,"  she  demanded,  "have  you  heard 
this  news?" 

''No,"  said  Uncle  Mandeville. 

"That  Sylvia  has  engaged  herself  to  Frank 
Shirley!" 

"Good  God!"  said  Uncle  Mandeville. 

"Sylvia!"  exclaimed  Celeste,  in  horror. 

"Is  it  true?"  demanded  Aunt  Nannie — in  a 
tone  which  said  that  she  declined  to  comment 
until  official  confirmation  had  been  received. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Sylvia. 

"And  what  have  you  to  say  about  it?"  inquired 
Aunt  Nannie.  She  looked  first  at  the  Major, 
then  at  his  wife,  and  then  at  Mrs.  Tuis;  but  no 
one  had  anything  to  say. 

"I  can't  quite  believe  that  you're  in  your 
right  senses,"  continued  the  speaker.  "Or  that 
I  have  heard  you  say  the  words.  What  can 
have  got  into  you?" 

"Nannie,"  said  the  Major,  clearing  his  throat, 
"Sylvia  doesn't  want  to  marry  him  for  a  long 
time." 

"But  she  proposes  to  be  engaged  to  him,  I 
understand!" 

"Yes,"  admitted  the  other. 

'And  this  engagement  is  to  be  announced?" 

"Why — er — I  suppose " 

"Certainly,"  put  in  Sylvia. 

"And  when,  may  I  ask?" 

"At  once." 

"And  is  there  nobody  here  who  has  thought 


SYLVIA  LOVES  111 

of  the  consequences?  Possibly  you  have  over 
looked  the  fact  that  one  of  my  daughters  has 
planned  to  marry  Ridgely  Peyton  next  month. 
That  is  to  be  called  off?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Nannie?" 

"Can  you  be  childish  enough  to  imagine  that 
the  Peytons  will  consent  to  marry  into  a  family 
with  a  convict's  son  in  it?" 

"Nannie!"  protested  the  Major. 

"I  know!"  replied  Mrs.  Chilton.  "Sylvia 
doesn't  like  the  words.  But  if  she  proposes  to 
marry  a  convict's  son,  she  may  as  well  get  used 
to  them  now  as  later.  It's  the  thing  that  people 
will  be  saying  about  her  for  the  balance  of  her 
days;  the  thing  they'll  be  saying  about  all  of  us 
everywhere.  Look  at  Celeste  there — just  ready 
to  come  out!  How  much  chance  she'll  have — 
with  such  a  start!  Her  sister  engaged  to  Frank 
Shirley!" 

Sylvia  turned  to  Celeste,  and  the  eyes  of  these 
two  met.  Celeste  turned  pale,  and  her  look  was 
eloquent  of  dismay. 

"Nannie,"  put  in  the  Major,  protestingly, 
"Frank  Shirley  is  a  fine,  straight  fellow " 

"I've  nothing  to  say  against  Frank  Shirley," 
exclaimed  the  other.  "I  know  nothing  about 
him,  and  never  expect  to  know  anything  about 
him.  But  I  know  the  story  of  his  family,  and 
I  know  that  he's  no  right  in  ours.  And  what's 
more,  he  knows  it  too — if  he  were  a  man  with 
any  conscience  or  self-respect,  he'd  not  consent  to 
ruin  Sylvia's  life!" 


112  SYLVIA 

"Aunt  Nannie,"  broke  in  the  girl,  "is  one  to 
think  of  nothing  in  marriage  but  worldly  pride?" 

"Worldly  pride!"  ejaculated  the  other.  "You 
call  it  worldly  pride — because  you,  who  have 
been  the  favorite  child  of  the  Castlemans,  who 
have  been  given  every  luxury,  every  privilege, 
are  asked  not  to  trample  your  sisters  and  cousins! 
To  give  way  to  a  blind  passion,  and  put  a  stain 
upon  our  name  that  will  last  for  generations! 
Where  do  you  suppose  you'd  have  been  to-day 
if  your  forefathers  had  acted  in  such  fashion? 
Do  you  imagine  that  you'd  have  been  the  belle 
of  Castleman  Hall,  the  most  sought-after  girl  in 
the  state?" 

That  was  the  argument.  For  some  minutes 
Mrs.  Chilton  went  on  to  pour  it  forth.  And 
angry  as  she  was,  Sylvia  could  not  but  feel  the 
force  of  it,  and  realize  the  effect  it  was  producing 
on  the  other  members  of  the  council.  It  was  not 
the  voice  of  a  woman  speaking;  it  was  the  voice 
of  something  greater  than  any  of  them,  or  than 
all  of  them  together — a  thing  that  had  come 
from  dun-distant  ages,  and  would  continue  into 
an  unpenetrable  future.  It  was  the  voice  of  the 
Family!  No  light  thing  it  was,  in  truth,  to  be 
the  favorite  daughter  of  the  Castlemans!  Not 
a  responsibility  one  could  evade,  an  honor  one 
could  decline! 

"You  are  where  you  are  to-day,"  proclaimed 
the  speaker,  "because  other  women  thought  of 
you  when  they  chose  their  husbands.  And  I 
have  never  observed  in  you  any  unwillingness 
to  accept  the  advantages  they  have  handed  on 


SYLVIA  XOVES  113 

to  you,  any  contempt  for  admiration  and  suc 
cess.  You  are  only  a  girl,  of  course;  you  can't 
be  expected  to  realize  all  the  meaning  of  your 
marriage  to  your  family;  but  your  mother  and 
father  know,  and  they  ought  to  have  impressed 
it  on  you,  instead  of  leaving  you  to  run  wild  and 
be  trapped  by  the  first  unprincipled  man  that 
came  along!" 

There  was  a  pause.  The  Major  and  his  wife 
sat  in  silence,  with  a  guilty  look  upon  their  faces. 
" Worldly  pride!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Nannie,  turn 
ing  upon  them.  "Have  you  told  her  about  your 
own  marriage?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  Major. 

"You  know  very  well,"  was  the  reply,  "that 
Margaret,  when  she  married  you,  was  head  over 
heels  in  love  with  a  nice,  respectable,  poor  young 
preacher.  And  that  she  married  you,  not  because 
she  was  in  love  with  you,  but  because  she  knew 
that  you  were  a  noble-minded  gentleman,  the 
head  of  the  oldest  and  best  family  in  the  county." 
And  then  Aunt  Nannie  turned  upon  Sylvia. 
"Suppose,"  she  demanded,  "that  your  mother 
had  been  sentimental  and  silly,  and  had  run 
away  with  the  preacher — have  you  any  idea  where 
you'd  be  now?" 

Sylvia  was  hardly  to  be  blamed  for  having  no 
answer  to  this  question,  which  might  have  been 
too  much  for  the  most  learned  scientist.  There 
was  silence  hi  the  council. 

"Or  take  Mandeville,"  pursued  the  Voice  of 
the  Family. 


114  SYLVIA 

"Nannie!"  protested  Mandeville. 

"You  don't  want  it  talked  about,  I  know," 
said  the  other,  "but  this  is  a  time  for  truth- 
telling.  Your  Uncle  Mandeville  was  madly  in 
love  with  a  girl — a  girl  who  had  position,  and 
money  too;  but  he  would  not  marry  her  because 
she  had  a  sister  who  was  'fast/  and  he  would  not 
bring  such  blood  into  the  family.'' 

There  was  a  pause.  Uncle  Mandeville's  head 
was  bowed. 

"And  do  you  remember,"  persisted  Aunt 
Nannie,  "that  when  the  question  was  being  dis 
cussed,  your  brother  here  asked  that  his  growing 
daughters  be  spared  having  to  hear  about  a 
scandal?  Do  you  remember  that?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mandeville,  "I  remember  that." 

"And  how  much  nobler  was  such  conduct 
than  that  of  your  Uncle  Tom.  Think " 

One  could  feel  a  sudden  thrill  go  through  the 
assembly.  "Oh!"  cried  Miss  Margaret,  protest- 
ingly;  and  Mrs.  Tiiis  exclaimed,  "Nannie!" 

"Think  of  what  happened  to  Tom's  wife!" 
the  other  was  proceeding;  but  here  she  was 
stopped  by  a  firm  word  from  the  Major.  "We 
will  not  discuss  that,  sister!" 

There  was  a  solemn  pause,  during  which  Sylvia 
and  Celeste  stared  at  each  other.  They  knew 
that  Uncle  Tom  Harley,  their  mother's  brother, 
was  an  army  officer  stationed  in  the  far  West; 
but  they  had  never  heard  before  that  he  had 
a  wife,  and  were  amazed  and  a  little  frightened 
by  the  revelation.  It  is  in  moments  such  as 


SYLVIA  LOVES  115 

these,  when  the  tempers  of  men  and  women 
strike  sparks,  that  one  gets  glimpses  of  the  skele 
tons  that  are  hidden  far  back  in  the  corners  of 
family  closets! 


§  25 

THERE  was  a  phrase  which  Sylvia  had  heard 
a  thousand  tunes  in  the  discussions  of  her  rela 
tives;  it  was  "bad  blood."  "Bad  blood"  was 
a  thing  which  possessed  and  terrified  the  Castle- 
man  imagination.  Sylvia  had  but  the  vaguest 
ideas  of  heredity.  She  had  heard  it  stated  that 
tuberculosis  and  insanity  were  transmissible,  and 
that  one  must  never  marry  into  a  family  where 
these  disorders  appeared;  but  apparently,  also, 
the  family  considered  that  poverty  and  obscurity 
were  transmissible — besides  the  general  tendency 
to  do  things  of  which  your  neighbors  disapproved. 
And  you  were  warned  that  these  evils  often  skipped 
a  generation  and  reappeared.  You  might  pick 
out  a  most  excellent  young  man  for  a  husband, 
and  then  see  your  children  return  to  the  criminal 
ways  of  his  ancestors. 

That  was  Aunt  Nannie's  argument  now.  When 
Sylvia  cried,  "What  has  Frank  Shirley  done?" 
the  reply  was,  "It's  not  what  he  did,  but  what 
his  father  did." 

•  "But,"  cried  the  girl,  "his  father  was  innocent! 
I've  heard  Papa  say  it  a  hundred  times!" 

"Then  his  uncle  was  guilty,"  was  Aunt  Nannie's 


116  SYLVIA 

response.  "Somebody  took  the  money  and 
gambled  it  away." 

"But  is  gambling  such  a  terrible  offence?  It 
seems  to  me  I've  heard  of  some  Castlemans 
gambling." 

"If  they  do,"  was  the  reply,  "they  gamble 
with  their  own  money." 

At  which  Sylvia  cried,  "Nothing  of  the  kind! 
They  have  gambled,  and  then  come  to  Uncle 
Mandeville  to  get  him  to  pay  their  debts!" 

Now  that  was  a  body-blow;  for  it  was  Aunt 
Nannie's  own  boys  who  had  adopted  this  custom, 
which  Sylvia  had  heard  sternly  reprehended  hi 
the  family  councils.  Aunt  Nannie  flushed,  and 
Uncle  Mandeville  made  haste  to  interpose — 
"Sylvia,  you  should  not  speak  so  to  your  aunt." 

"I  don't  see  why  not,"  declared  the  girl.  "I 
am  saying  nothing  but  what  is  true;  and  I  have 
been  attacked  in  the  thing  that  is  most  precious 
in  life  to  me." 

Here  the  Major  felt  it  his  duty  to  enter  the 
debate.  "Sylvia,"  he  said,  "I  don't  think  you 
quite  realize  your  aunt's  feelings.  It  is  no  selfish 
motive  that  leads  her  to  make  these  objections." 

" Not  selfish?"  asked  the  girl.  "She's  admitted 
it's  her  fear  for  her  own  daughters,  Papa " 

"It's  just  exactly  as  much  for  your  own  sister, 
Sylvia."  It  was  the  voice  of  Celeste,  entering 
the  discussion  for  the  first  time.  Sylvia  stared 
at  her,  astonished,  and  saw  her  eyes  alight,  her 
face  as  set  and  hard  as  Aunt  Nannie's.  Sylvia 
realized  all  at  once  that  she  had  an  enemy  in  her 
own  house. 


SYLVIA  LOVES  117 

She  was  trembling  violently  as  she  made  reply. 
"Then,  Celeste,  I  have  to  give  up  everything 
that  means  happiness  in  life  to  me,  because  I 
might  frighten  away  rich  suitors  from  my  sister?" 

"  Sylvia,"  put  in  the  Major,  gravely,  before 
Celeste  could  speak,  "you  must  not  say  things 
like  that.  It  is  not  because  Frank  Shirley  is  poor 
that  we  are  objecting.  The  pride  of  the  Castle- 
mans  is  not  simply  a  pride  of  worldly  power." 

"She  degrades  us  and  degrades  herself  when 
she  implies  it!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Nannie. 

"It  is  a  high  and  great  pride,"  continued  the 
Major.  "The  pride  of  a  race  of  men  and  women 
who  have  scorned  ignoble  conduct  and  held  them 
selves  above  all  dishonor.  That  is  no  weak  or 
shallow  thing,  Sylvia.  It  is  a  thing  which  sus 
tains  and  upholds  us  at  every  moment  of  our 
lives:  that  we  are  living,  not  merely  for  our 
individual  selves,  but  for  all  the  generations  that 
are  to  be.  It  may  seem  a  cruel  thing  that  the 
sins  of  the  fathers  should  be  visited  upon  the 
children,  but  it  is  a  law  of  God.  It  was  some 
thing  that  Bob  Shirley  himself  said  to  me,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes — that  his  children  and  his  chil 
dren's  children  would  have  to  pay  for  what  had 
been  done." 

"But,  Papa!"  cried  Sylvia.  "They  don't  have 
to  pay  it,  except  that  we  make  them  pay  it!" 

"You  are  mistaken,  my  child,"  said  the  Major, 
quietly.  "It's  not  we  alone.  It  was  the  whole 
of  society  that  condemned  him.  We  cannot 
possibly  wipe  out  the  blot  on  the  Shirley 
escutcheon." 


118  SYLVIA 

"We  can  only  drag  ourselves  down  with  them!" 
exclaimed  Aunt  Nannie. 

"Why,  it's  just  as  if  we  said  that  going  to 
prison  was  nothing!"  cried  Celeste. 

"You  must  remember  how  many  people  there 
are  looking  up  to  us,  Sylvia,"  put  in  Uncle  Mande- 
ville,  solemnly. 

There  they  were,  all  in  chorus;  Sylvia  gazed 
in  anguish  from  one  to  another.  She  gazed  at 
her  mother,  just  at  the  moment  that  that  good 
lady  was  preparing  to  express  her  opinion.  For 
the  particular  thing  which  held  the  imagination 
of  "Miss  Margaret"  in  thrall  was  this  vision  of 
the  Castlemans  living  their  life  as  it  were  upon 
a  stage,  with  the  lower  orders  in  the  pit  looking 
on,  imbibing  instruction  and  inspiration  from 
the  action  of  the  lofty  drama. 

Sylvia  had  heard  it  all  before,  and  she  could 
not  bear  to  listen  to  it  now.  The  tears,  which 
had  long  been  in  her  eyes,  suddenly  began  to  roll 
down  her  cheeks;  she  sprang  up,  exclaiming  pas 
sionately,  "You  are  all  against  me!  Everyone  of 
you!" 

"Sylvia,"  said  her  father,  in  distress,  "that  is 
not  true!" 

"We  would  wade  through  blood  for  you!" 
exclaimed  Uncle  Mandeville — who  was  always 
looking  for  a  chance  to  shoot  somebody  for  the 
honor  of  the  Castleman  name. 

"We  are  thinking  of  nothing  but  your  own 
future,"  said  the  Major.  "You  are  only  a  child, 
Sylvia " 


SYLVIA  LOVES  119 

But  Sylvia  cried,  "I  can't  bear  any  more! 
You  promised  to  stand  by  me,  Papa — and  now 
you  let  Aunt  Nannie  come  here  and  persuade 
you — Mamma  too — all  of  you !  You  will  break 
my  heart!"  And  so  saying  she  fled  from  the 
room,  leaving  the  family  council  to  proceed  as 
best  it  could  without  her. 


§  26 

SYLVIA  shut  herself  in  her  room  and  had  a 
good,  exhaustive  cry.  Then,  with  her  soul  atmos 
phere  cleared,  she  set  to  work  to  think  out  her 
problem. 

She  had  to  admit  that  the  family  had  presented 
a  strong  case.  There  was  the  matter  of  heredity, 
for  example.  Just  how  much  likelihood  might 
there  be,  in  the  event  of  her  marrying  Frank,  of 
her  finding  herself  with  children  of  evil  tendencies? 
Just  what  truth  might  there  be  in  Aunt  Nannie's 
point  of  view,  that  he  was  a  selfish  man,  seeking 
to  redeem  his  family  fortunes  by  allying  himself 
with  the  Castlemans?  The  question  sounded 
cold-blooded,  but  then  Sylvia  always  had  to  face 
the  truth. 

Also  there  was  the  problem,  to  what  extent 
a  girl  ought  to  sacrifice  herself  to  her  family. 
There  was  no  denying  that  they  had  done  much 
for  her.  She  had  been  as  their  right  eye  to  them; 
and  what  did  she  owe  them  in  return?  There 


120  SYLVIA 

was  no  one  of  them  whom  she  did  not  love,  sin 
cerely,  intensely;  there  was  no  one  over  whose 
sorrows  she  had  not  wept,  whose  burdens  she 
had  not  borne.  And  now  she  faced  the  fact  that 
if  she 'married  Frank  Shirley,  she  would  cause 
them  unhappiness.  She  might  argue  that  they 
had  no  right  to  be  unhappy;  but  that  did  not 
alter  the  fact — they  would  be  unhappy.  Sylvia's 
life  so  far  had  been  a  process  of  bringing  other 
people  joy;  and  now,  suddenly,  she  found  herself 
in  a  dilemma  where  it  was  necessary  for  her  to 
cause  pain.  Upon  whom  ought  it  to  fall — upon 
her  mother  and  father,  her  uncles  and  aunts — or 
upon  Frank  Shirley  and  herself? 

Of  all  the  arguments  which  produced  an  effect 
upon  her,  the  most  powerful  was  that  embodied 
hi  Aunt  Nannie's  phrase,  "a  blind  passion." 
Sylvia  had  been  taught  to  think  of  "passion" 
as  something  low  and  shameful;  she  did  not  like 
the  vision  of  herself  as  a  weak,  infatuated  crea 
ture,  throwing  away  all  that  other  people  had 
striven  to  give  her.  Many  were  the  phrases 
whereby  all  her  life  she  had  heard  such  conduct 
scorned;  there  was  a  phrase  from  the  Bible  that 
was  often  cited — something  about  "  inordinate 
affection."  Just  what  was  the  difference  between 
ordinate  and  inordinate  affection?  And  how  was 
she  to  decide  in  which  category  to  place  her  love 
for  Frank  Shirley? 

For  the  greater  part  of  two  days  and  two 
nights  Sylvia  debated  these  problems;  and  then 
she  went  to  her  father.  The  color  was  gone  from 


SYLVIA  LOVES 

her  cheeks,  and  she  was  visibly  thinner;  but  her 
mind  was  made  up. 

She  told  the  Major  all  the  doubts  that  had 
beset  her  and  all  the  arguments  she  had  con 
sidered.  She  set  forth  his  contention  that  the 
pride  of  the  Castlemans  was  not  a  "  worldly 
pride;"  and  then  she  announced  her  conclusion, 
which  was  that  he  was  permitting  himself  to  be 
carried  along,  against  his  own  better  judgment, 
by  the  vanity  of  the  women  of  his  family. 

Needless  to  say,  the  Major  was  startled  by  this 
pronouncement,  delivered  with  all  the  solemnity 
of  a  pontiff  ex  cathedra.  But  Sylvia  was  ready 
with  her  proofs.  There  was  Aunt  Nannie,  schem 
ing  and  plotting  day  and  night  to  make  great 
marriages  for  her  children.  Spending  her  hus 
band's  money  in  ways  he  disapproved,  and  get 
ting — what?  Was  there  a  single  one  of  her 
children  that  was  happy?  Was  there  a  single 
couple — for  all  the  rich  marriages — that  wasn't 
living  beyond  its  income,  and  jealous  of  other 
people  who  were  able  to  spend  more?  Harley, 
grumbling  because  he  couldn't  have  a  motor  of 
his  own — Clive,  because  he  couldn't  afford  to 
marry  the  girl  he  loved!  And  both  of  them 
drinking  and  gambling,  and  forcing  Uncle  Mande- 
ville  to  pay  their  debts. 

"Sylvia,  you  know  I  have  protested  to  your 
Aunt  Nannie." 

"  Yes,  Papa — but  meantime  you're  ruining  your 
own  health  and  fortune  to  enable  your  daughters 
to  run  the  same  race.  Here's  Celeste,  like  a 


SYLVIA 

hound  in  the  leash,  eager  to  have  her  chance — 
just  Aunt  Nannie  all  over  again!  I  know,  Papa 
—it's  terrible,  and  I  can't  bear  to  hurt  you  with 
it,  but  I  have  to  tell  you  what  my  own  decision 
is.  I  love  Frank  Shirley;  I  think  my  love  for 
him  is  a  true  love,  and  I  can't  for  a  moment 
think  of  giving  it  up.  I'm  sorry  to  have  to 
break  faith  with  the  Family;  I  can  only  plead 
that  I  didn't  understand  the  bargain  when  I 
made  it,  and  that  I  shall  take  care  not  to  make 
my  debt  any  greater." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Sylvia?" 

"I  mean  that  I  want  to  give  up  the  social 
game.  I  want  to  stop  spending  fortunes  on 
clothes  and  travel  and  luxuries;  I  want  to  stop 
being  paraded  round  and  exhibited  to  men  I'm 
not  interested  in.  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  little 
money — just  what  I  need  to  live — and  let  me  go 
to  New  York  to  study  music  for  a  year  or  two 
more,  until  I  am  able  to  teach  and  earn  my  own 
living." 

"Earn  your  own  living!    Sylvia!" 

"Precisely,  Papa.  And  meantime,  Frank  can 
go  through  college  and  law  school,  and  when  we 
can  take  care  of  ourselves,  we'll  marry.  That's 
my  plan,  and  I'm  serious  about  it — I  want  you 
to  let  me  do  it  this  year." 

And  there  sat  the  poor  Major,  staring  at  her, 
his  face  a  study  of  unutterable  emotions,  whisper 
ing  to  himself,  "My  God!  My  God!" 

When  Sylvia  told  me  about  this  scene  I  re 
minded  her  of  her  experience  with  the  young 


SYLVIA  LOVES  123 

clergyman  who  had  come  to  convert  her  from 
heresy.  " Don't  you  see  now,"  I  asked,  "why  he 
called  you  the  most  dangerous  woman  in  Castle- 
man  County?" 


§  27 

THIS  procedure  of  Sylvia's  was  a  beautiful 
illustration  of  what  the  military  strategists  call 
an  " offensive  defence."  By  the  simple  sugges 
tion  of  earning  her  own  living,  she  got  everything 
else  in  the  world  that  she  wanted.  It  was  agreed 
that  she  might  make  known  her  engagement  to 
Frank  Shirley.  It  was  agreed  that  she  need  have 
no  more  money  spent  upon  clothes  and  parties. 
Most  important  of  all,  it  was  agreed  that  Aunt 
Nannie  was  to  be  informed  that  Sylvia's  course 
was  approved  by  her  parents,  and  that  Frank 
Shirley  was  to  be  welcomed  to  Castleman  Hall. 

But  of  course  she  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  earn 
money.  Her  father  made  it  clear  that  the  bare 
suggestion  of  this  caused  him  more  unhappiness 
than  she  could  endure  to  inflict.  When  she  pro 
tested,  "I  want  to  learn  something  useful!"  the 
dear  old  Major  was  ready  with  the  proposition 
that  they  learn  something  useful  together;  and 
forthwith  unlocked  the  diamond-paned  doors  of 
the  old  mahogany  book-cases,  and  dragged  forth 
dust-covered  sets  of  Grote's  "History  of  Greece," 
and  Hume's  "History  of  England,"  and  Jeffer 
son  Davis'  "Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Confederate 


124  SYLVIA 

Government" — out  of  which  ponderous  volumes 
Sylvia  read  aloud  to  him  for  several  hours  each 
day  thereafter. 

So  from  now  on  this  is  to  be  the  story  of  a 
wholly  reformed  and  chastened  huntress  of  hearts. 
No  more  for  her  the  tournaments  of  coquetry, 
no  more  the  trumpets  of  the  ball-room  peal.  No 
longer  shall  we  behold  her,  clad  hi  armor  of 
chiffon  and  real  lace,  with  breastplate  of  American 
beauty  roses  and  helmet  of  gold  and  pearls.  No 
longer  shall  we  see  the  arrows  of  her  red-brown 
eyes  flying  over  the  stricken  field,  deep-dyed  with 
.the  heart's  blood  of  Masculinity.  Instead  of 
this  the  dusty  tome  and  the  midnight  oil  and  the 
green  eye-shade  confront  us;  we  behold  the  un 
canny  spectacle  of  the  loveliest  of  created  mortals 
clad  in  blue  stockings  and  black-rimmed  spec 
tacles. — All  this  scintillating  wit,  I  make  haste 
to  explain,  is  not  mine,  but  something  which 
Avery  Crittenden,  the  town  wag,  dashed  off  in 
a  moment  of  illumination,  and  which  appeared 
in  the  Castleman  County  Register  (no  names, 
if  you  please!)  a  couple  of  weeks  after  the  news 
of  Sylvia's  reformation  had  stunned  the  world. 

I  wish  that  space  were  less  limited,  so  that  I 
could  tell  you  how  Castleman  County  received 
the  tidings,  and  some  few  of  the  comical  episodes 
in  the  long  war  which  it  waged  to  break  down 
her  resolution  of  withdrawal.  It  was  the  light 
of  their  eyes  going  out,  and  they  could  not  and 
would  not  be  reconciled  to  it.  They  wrote  let 
ters,  they  sent  telegrams;  they  would  come  and 


SYLVIA   LOVES  125 

literally  besiege  the  house — sit  in  the  parlor  and 
condole  with  "Miss  Margaret/'  no  longer  because 
Sylvia  refused  to  marry  them,  but  merely  because 
she  refused  to  lead  the  german  with  them!  They 
would  come  with  bands  of  music,  with  negro 
singers  to  serenade  her.  One  spring  night  a  whole 
fancy-dress  ball  adjourned  by  unanimous  consent, 
and  stormed  the  terraces  of  Castleman  Hall  and 
held  its  revels  under  the  windows;  and  so  of 
course  Sylvia  had  to  stop  trying  to  read  about 
Walpole's  ministry  and  invite  them  in  and  give 
them  wine  and  cake.  On  the  evening  of  one  of 
the  club  dances  there  was  an  organized  con 
spiracy;  seventeen  of  her  old  sweethearts  sent 
her  roses,  and  when  in  spite  of  this  she  did  not 
come,  the  next  day  came  seventeen  messengers, 
bearing  seventeen  packages,  each  containing  a 
little  cupid  wrapped  hi  cotton-wool — but  with  his 
wings  broken! 

Such  was  the  pressure  from  outside;  and 
within — there  would  be  a  new  gown  sent  by 
Uncle  Mandeville,  who  was  on  another  spree  in 
New  Orleans;  a  gown  that  was  really  a  dream 
of  beauty  and  a  crime  not  to  wear.  Or  there 
would  be  talk  at  the  table  about  Dolly  Wither- 
spoon,  Sylvia's  chief  rival,  and  the  triumph  she 
had  won  at  the  cotillion  last  night;  how  Stanley 
Pendleton  was  "rushing"  her,  and  how  Cousin 
Harley  had  been  snubbed  by  her.  And  then 
some  one  gave  a  ball,  and  Charlie  Peyton  rang 
up  to  say  that  he  was  getting  drunk  and  going 
to  the  devil  unless  Sylvia  would  come  and  dance 


126  SYLVIA 

with  him!  And  when  this  device  succeeded,  and 
the  rumor  of  it  spread — how  many  of  the  nicest 
boys  in  the  county  took  to  getting  drunk  and 
going  to  the  devil,  because  Sylvia  would  not 
come  and  dance  with  them! 

I  mention  these  things  in  order  that  you  may 
understand  that,  sincere  as  Sylvia  was  in  her 
effort  to  withdraw  from  "society,"  she  was  not 
entirely  successful.  She  still  met  "eligible"  men, 
and  she  was  still  an  object  of  family  concern. 
A  few  days  after  the  council,  she  had  been  sur 
prised  by  a  visit  from  Aunt  Nannie,  who  came 
to  apologize  and  make  peace.  "I  want  you  to 
know,  Sylvia  dear,"  she  declared,  "that  what  I 
said  to  you  was  said  with  no  thought  of  anything 
but  your  own  good."  There  was  a  reconcilia 
tion,  with  tears  in  the  eyes  of  both  of  them — and 
a  renewal  of  the  activities  of  Aunt  Nannie.  How 
often  it  happened  to  Sylvia,  when  at  some  dance 
she  fell  into  the  clutches  of  an  undesirable  man, 
that  Aunt  Nannie  found  a  pretext  for  joining 
them — and  presently,  without  quite  realizing 
how,  Sylvia  found  that  the  man  was  gone,  and 
that  she  was  settled  for  a  tete-a-tete  with  a  more 
suitable  companion!  Once  she  stopped  to  lunch 
eon  with  the  Bishop,  and  found  herself  being 
shown  a  new  album  of  photographs.  There 
among  English  cathedrals  and  Rhenish  castles 
she  stumbled  upon  a  picture  of  the  "Mansion 
House,"  the  home  of  the  wealthy  Peytons. 
"What  a  lovely  old  place!"  she  exclaimed;  and 
her  aunt  remarked,  "Charlie  will  inherit  that, 
lucky  boy!" 


SYLVIA   LOVES  127 

She  remembered  also  the  case  of  Ned  Scott, 
the  young  West  Pointer  who  came  home  on 
furlough,  setting  all  the  girls'  hearts  aflutter  with 
his  gray  and  gold  gorgeousness.  "My,  what  a 
handsome  fellow!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Nannie.  "It 
makes  me  happy  just  to  watch  him  walk!" 

"An  army  man  always  has  a  good  social  posi 
tion,"  remarked  "Miss  Margaret,"  casually. 
•  "And  an  assured  income,"  added  Aunt  Varina, 
timidly. 

"He  has  a  mole  on  his  nose,"  observed  Sylvia. 


§  28 

FRANK  SHIRLEY  had  passed  the  midwinter  exam 
inations  at  Harvard,  and  was  settled  in  the  dormi 
tory  of  his  fathers;  and  so  for  a  while  the  acute 
agitation  subsided.  It  began  again  in  the  sum 
mer,  however — when  Sylvia  proposed  staying  at 
the  Hall,  instead  of  going  with  the  family  to  the 
summer-place  in  the  mountains  of  North  Carolina. 
It  was  obvious  that  this  was  hi  order  to  be  near 
her  lover;  and  so  the  whole  battle  had  to  be 
fought  over  again.  Aunt  Nannie  was  unable  to 
understand  how  Sylvia  could  be  willing  to  "pub 
lish  her  infatuation  to  the  world." 

"But  I  have  only  the  summer  when  I  can  see 
him,"  the  girl  argued. 

"But  even  so,  my  dear — to  give  up  everything 
else,  to  change  all  your  plans,  the  plans  of  you'' 
whole  family!" 


128  SYLVIA 

"Nobody  need  change,  Aunt  Nannie.  Aunt 
Varina  will  stay  with  me  gladly." 

"  Others  have  to  stay,  if  it's  only  to  hide  what 
you  are  doing.  It's  not  decent,  Sylvia!  Believe 
me,  you  will  lose  the  man's  own  respect  if  you 
behave  so.  No  man  can  permanently  respect 
a  woman  who  betrays  her  feelings  so  openly." 

"My  dear  Aunt  Nannie,"  said  Sylvia,  quietly, 
"I  am  quite  sure  that  I  know  Frank  Shirley 
better  than  you  do." 

"Poor,  deluded  child,"  was  Mrs.  Chilton's 
comment.  "You'll  find  to  your  sorrow  some 
day  that  men  are  all  alike!" 

But  the  girl  was  obdurate.  The  family  had  to 
proceed  to  desperate  measures.  First  her  mother 
declared  that  she  would  stay  also — she  must 
remain  to  protect  her  unfortunate  child.  And 
then,  of  course,  the  Major  decided  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  remain.  There  came  the  question  of 
Celeste,  who  had  planned  a  house  party,  and  fore 
saw  the  spoiling  of  her  fun  by  the  selfishness  of 
her  sister.  There  was  also  the  baby — the  precious, 
ineffable  baby,  the  heir  of  all  the  might,  majesty 
and  dominion  of  the  Lysles.  The  family  physician 
intervened — the  child  must  positively  have  the 
mountain  air.  Also  the  Major's  liver  trouble  was 
serious,  he  was  sleeping  badly  and  working  too 
hard,  and  was  in  desperate  need  of  a  change. 
Prompted  by  Aunt  Nannie,  the  doctor  said  this 
in  Sylvia's  hearing — and  settled  the  matter. 

It  had  been  Frank's  idea  to  remain  at  Cam 
bridge  and  study  during  the  summer,  so  as  to 


SYLVIA  LOVES  129 

make  up  some  "conditions;"  but  when  he  learned 
that  Sylvia  intended  to  remain  at  the  Hall,  he 
decided  to  stand  the  expense  of  coming  home. 
He  arrived  there  to  find  that  she  had  suddenly 
changed  her  mind  and  was  going — and  offering 
but  slight  explanation  of  her  change.  Sylvia 
was  intensely  humiliated  because  of  the  attitude 
of  her  family,  and  was  trying  to  spare  Frank  the 
pain  of  knowing  about  it. 

So  came  the  beginning  of  unhappiness  between 
them.  Frank  was  acutely  conscious  of  his  in 
feriority  to  her  in  all  worldly  ways.  And  he  knew 
that  her  relatives  were  trying  to  break  down  her 
resolution.  He  could  not  believe  that  they  would 
succeed;  and  yet,  there  was  a  bitter  and  disillu 
sioned  man  within  him  who  could  not  believe  that 
they  would  fail.  In  his  soul  there  were  always 
thorns  of  doubt,  which  festered,  and  now  and 
then  would  cause  him  pangs  of  agony.  But  he 
was  as  proud  as  any  savage,  and  would  have 
died  before  he  would  ask  for  mercy.  When  he 
learned  that  she  was  going  away  from  him,  for 
no  better  reason  than  her  relatives'  objections, 
he  felt  that  she  did  not  care  enough  for  him. 
And  then,  when  he  did  not  protest,  it  was  Sylvia's 
turn  to  worry.  So  it  really  did  not  matter  to 
him  whether  she  stayed  or  not!  It  might  be 
that  Aunt  Nannie  was  right  after  all,  that  a  man 
ceased  to  love  a  woman  who  gave  herself  too 
freely. 


130  SYLVIA 

§  29 

THE  matter  was  complicated  by  the  episode 
of  Beauregard  Dabney,  about  which  I  have  to 
tell. 

You  have  heard,  perhaps,  of  the  Dabneys  of 
Charleston;  the  names  of  three  of  them — Beaure- 
gard's  grandfather  and  two  great-uncles — may 
be  read  upon  the  memorial  tablets  in  the  stately 
old  church  which  is  the  city's  pride.  In  Charleston 
they  have  a  real  aristocracy- — gentlemen  so  poor 
that  they  wear  their  cuffs  all  ragged,  yet  are 
received  with  homage  in  the  proudest  homes  in 
the  South.  The  Dabneys  had  a  city  mansion 
with  front  steps  crumbling  away,  and  a  country 
house  which  would  not  keep  out  the  rain;  and 
yet  when  Beauregard,  the  young  scion  of  the 
house,  fell  prey  to  the  charm  and  animation  of 
Harriet  Atkinson,  whose  father's  street  railroad 
was  equal  to  a  mint,  the  family  regarded  it  as 
the  greatest  calamity  since  Appomattox. 

He  had  followed  Harriet  to  Castleman  County; 
and  when  the  news  got  out,  a  detachment  of 
uncles  and  aunts  came  flying,  and  captured  the 
poor  boy,  and  were  on  the  point  of  shipping  him 
home,  when  Harriet  called  Sylvia  to  the  rescue. 
Sylvia  could  impress  even  the  Dabneys;  and  if 
only  she  would  have  Beauregard  and  one  of  the 
aunts  invited  to  Castleman  Hall,  it  might  yet  be 
possible  to  save  the  situation. 

Sylvia  had  met  young  Dabney  once,  when 
visitine  in  Charleston.  She  remembered  him  as 


SYLVIA  LOVES  131 

an  effeminate-mannered  youth,  with  what  would 
have  been  a  doll-baby  face  but  for  the  fact  that 
the  nose  caved  in  in  the  middle  in  a  disturbing 
way.  "Tell  me,  Harriet,"  she  asked,  when  she 
met  her  friend — "are  you  in  love  with  him?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Harriet.  "I'm  afraid 
I'm  not — at  least,  not  very  much." 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  marry  a  man  you 
don't  love?" 

Harriet  was  driving,  and  she  grasped  the  reins 
tightly  and  gave  the  horse  a  flick  with  the  whip. 
"Sunny,"  she  said,  "you  might  as  well  face  the 
fact — I  could  never  fall  in  love  as  you  have. 
I  don't  believe  in  it.  I  wouldn't  want  to.  I'd 
never  let  myself  trust  a  man  that  much." 

"But  then,  why  marry?" 

"I  have  to  marry.  What  can  I  do?  I'm  tired 
of  being  chaperoned,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  an 
old  maid." 

Sylvia  pondered  for  a  moment.  "Suppose," 
she  said,  "that  you  should  marry  him,  and  then 
meet  a  man  you  loved?" 

"I've  already  answered  that — it  won't  happen. 
I'm  too  selfish."  She  paused,  and  then  added, 
"It's  all  right,  Sunny.  I've  figured  over  it,  and 
I'm  not  making  any  mistake.  He's  a  good  fellow, 
and  I  like  him.  He's  a  gentleman — he  does  not 
offend  me.  Also,  he's  very  much  in  love  with 
me,  which  is  the  best  way;  I'll  always  be  the 
boss  in  my  own  home.  He's  respected,  and  I'll 
help  out  my  poor  struggling  family  if  I  marry 
him.  You  know  how  it  is,  Sunny — I  vowed  I'd 


132  SYLVIA 

never  be  a  climber,  but  it's  hard  to  pull  back 
when  your  people  are  eager  for  the  heights.  And 
then,  too,  it's  always  a  temptation,  to  want  to  go 
where  you're  told  you  can't  go." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Sylvia.  "But  that's 
a  joke,  and  marrying's  a  serious  matter." 

"It's  only  that  because  we  make  it  so,"  retorted 
the  other.  "I  find  myself  bored  to  death,  and 
here's  something  that  rouses  my  fighting  blood. 
They  say  I  shan't  have  him — and  so  I  want  him. 
I'm  going  to  break  into  that  family,  and  then 
I'm  going  to  shake  the  rats  out  of  the  hair  of  some 
of  those  old  maid  aunts  of  his!" 

She  laughed  savagely  and  drove  on  for  a  while. 
"Sunny,"  she  resumed  at  last,  "you're  all  right. 
You  know  it,  but  I  tell  you  so  anyway.  You 
never  were  a  snob  that  I  know — but  I'm  cynical 
enough  to  say  that  it's  only  because  you  are  too 
proud.  Can  you  imagine  how  you'd  feel  if  any 
body  tried  to  patronize  you?  Can  you  imagine 
how  you'd  feeljif  everybody  did  it?  I'm  tired 
of  it— don't  you  see?  And  Beauregard  is  my  way 
of  escape.  I'm  going  to  marry  him^if  I  possibly 
can;  my  mind  is  made  up  to  it.  ,  I've  got  the 
whole  plan  of  campaign  laid  out — your  part 
included." 

"What's  my  part,  Harriet?" 

"It's  very  simple.  I  want  you  to  let  Beaure 
gard  fall  in  love  with  you." 

"With  me!" 

"Yes.  I  want  you  to  give  him  the  worst 
punishment  you  ever  gave  a  man  in  your  life." 


SYLVIA  LOVES  133 

"But  what's  that  for?" 

"He's  in  love  with  me — he  wants  me — and  he's 
too  much  of  a  coward  to  marry  me.  And  I  want 
to  see  him  suffer  for  it — as  only  you  can  make 
him.  I  want  you  to  take  him  and  maul  him, 
I  want  you  to  bray  him  and  pound  him  in  your 
mortar,  I  want  you  to  roll  him  and  toss  him 
about,  to  walk  on  him  and  stamp  on  him,  to  beat 
him  to  a  jelly  and  grind  him  to  a  powder!  I  want 
you  to  keep  it  up  till  he's  thoroughly  reduced — 
and  then  you  can  turn  him  over  to  me." 

"And  then  you  will  heal  him?"  inquired  Sylvia 
— who  had  not  been  alarmed  by  this  bloodthirsty 
discourse. 

"Perhaps  I  will  and  perhaps  I  won't,"  said  the 
other.  "What  is  there  in  the  maxims  of  Lady 
Dee  about  a  broken  heart?" 

"The  best  way  to  catch  a  man,"  quoted  Sylvia, 
"is  on  the  rebound!" 


§  30 

I  DON'T  know  how  this  adventure  will  seem  to 
you.  To  me  it  was  atrocious;  but  Sylvia  under 
took  it  with  a  child's  delight. 

"I  had  on  a  white  hat  with  pink  roses,"  she 
said,  when  she  told  me  about  it;  "and  I  could 
always  do  anything  to  a  man  when  I  had  pink 
roses  on.  Beauregard  was  waiting  for  Harriet 
to  go  driving  when  I  first  saw  him;  she  was 
upstairs,  late  on  purpose.  He  said  something 


134  SYLVIA 

about  my  looking  like  a  rose  myself — he  was  the 
most  obvious  of  human  creatures.  And  when 
he  asked  me  to  get  in  and  sit  by  him,  I  said, 
'Harriet  will  be  jealous.'  Of  course  he  was 
charmed  at  the  idea  of  Harriet's  being  jealous. 
So  he  asked  me  to  take  a  little  drive  with  him, 
and  we  stayed  out  an  hour — and  by  the  time  we 
got  back,  I  had  him!" 

Two  days  later  he  was  on  his  knees  begging 
Sylvia  to  marry  him.  At  which,  of  course,  she 
was  horrified.  "Why,  you're  supposed  to  be 
in  love  with  my  best  friend!" 

He  was  frank  about  it,  poor  soul.  "Of  course, 
Miss  Sylvia,"  he  explained,  "I  was  in  love  with 
Harriet;  and  Harriet's  a  fine  girl,  all  right.  It's 
bad  about  her  family,  but  I  thought  we  could  go 
away  where  nobody  knew  her,  and  people  would 
accept  her  as  my  wife,  and  they'd  soon  forget. 
She's  jolly  and  interesting,  and  all  that.  But 
you  understand,  surely,  Miss  Sylvia — no  man 
would  marry  Harriet  Atkinson  if  he  could  get 
you.  You — you're  quite  different,  Miss  Sylvia. 
You're  one  of  us!" 

He  made  Sylvia  furious  by  his  matter-of-fact 
snobbery;  and  so  she  was  lovely  to  him.  She 
told  him  that  she,  too,  had  been  in  love,  but  her 
family  was  opposed  to  the  man,  and  now  she  was 
very  unhappy.  She  told  him  that  she  was  not 
worthy  of  the  love  of  such  a  man  as  he.  Poor 
Beauregard  tried  his  best  to  reassure  her,  and 
followed  her  about  day  and  night  for  ten  days, 
and  was  a  most  dreadful  nuisance. 


SYLVIA   LOVES  135 

Each  day  she  would  report  to  Harriet  the  stage 
of  infatuation  to  which  he  had  come;  until  at 
last  Harriet's  thirst  for  blood  was  satisfied.  Then, 
dressed  all  in  snow-white  muslin  and  lace,  Sylvia 
took  her  devoted  suitor  off  to  a  seat  in  a  distant 
grape-arbor,  and  there  administered  the  dose  she 
had  prepared  for  him.  "Mr.  Dabney,"  she  said, 
"this  joke  has  got  to  be  such  a  bore  that  I  can't 
stand  it." 

"What  joke?"  asked  Beauregard,  innocently. 

"You  know  that  I  have  called  myself  a  friend 
of  Harriet  Atkinson's.  When  you  came  to  me 
and  told  me  that  you  loved  her,  but  wanted  to 
marry  me  because  my  family  was  better  than 
hers — did  it  never  occur  to  you  how  it  would 
strike  her  friend?  Evidently  not.  Well,  let  me 
tell  you  then — I  could  think  that  it  was  the 
stupidest  joke  I  had  ever  heard,  or  else  that  you 
were  the  most  arrogant  jack  that  ever  walked  on 
two  legs.  I  said  that  I  would  punish  you — and 
I've  been  doing  it.  You  must  understand  that 
I  never  felt  the  least  particle  of  interest  hi  you; 
I  never  met  a  man  who'd  be  less  apt  to  attract 
me,  and  I  can't  see  how  you  managed  to  interest 
Harriet.  I  assure  you  you've  no  reason  for 
holding  the  extravagant  opinion  of  yourself  which 
you  do." 

The  poor  youth  sat  staring  at  her,  unable  to 
believe  his  ears.  And  so,  of  course,  Sylvia  began 
to  feel  sorry  for  him.  "I  can  see,"  she  said, 
"that  there  might  be  something  in  you  to  like — 
if  only  you  had  the  courage  to  be  yourself.  But 


136  SYLVIA 

you're  so  terrorized  by  your  aunts  and  uncles, 
you've  let  them  make  you  into  such  a  dreadful 
snob " 

She  paused.  "You  really  think  I  am  a  snob?" 
he  cried. 

"The  worst  I  ever  met.  I  couldn't  bring  my 
self  to  discuss  it  with  you.  Let  me  give  you  this 
one  piece  of  advice,  though;  if  you  think  you're 
too  good  to  marry  a  girl,  pray  find  it  out  before 
you  tell  her  that  you  love  her.  Of  course,  I'm 
not  sorry  that  it  happened  this  time,  for  you 
won't  break  Harriet's  heart,  and  she's  a  thousand 
times  too  good  for  you.  So  I'm  not  sorry  that 
you've  lost  her." 

"You — you  think  that  I've  lost  her,  Miss 
Sylvia?"  gasped  the  other. 

"Lost  her?"  echoed  Sylvia.  "Why,  you  don't 
mean —  But  then  she  stopped.  She  must  not 
make  it  impossible  for  him  to  think  of  Harriet 
again.  "You've  lost  her,  unless  she's  a  great 
deal  more  generous  than  I'd  ever  be." 

Beauregard  took  his  drubbing  very  well.  He 
persuaded  Sylvia  to  discuss  his  snobbery  with 
him,  and  confessed  the  offence,  and  got  up  quite 
a  fire  of  indignation  against  his  banded  relatives. 
Also  he  admitted  that  Harriet  was  too  good  for 
him,  and  that  he  had  treated  her  like  a  cad. 
His  speeches  grew  shorter  and  his  manner  more 
anxious,  and  Sylvia  could  see  that  his  main 
thought  was  to  get  back  and  find  out  if  he'd 
really  lost  Harriet. 

So  she  called  her  friend  up  on  the  'phone  and 


SYLVIA   LOVES  137 

announced,  "He's  coming.  Get  on  your  prettiest 
dress  without  delay!"  And  then  Sylvia  went 
away  and  had  a  cry — first,  because  she  had  said 
such  cruel  things,  and  second,  because  her  mother 
and  father  would  be  unhappy  when  they  learned 
that  Beauregard  had  escaped  her. 

An  hour  later  Harriet  called  up  to  say  that  it 
was  all  over.  "Did  you  accept  him?"  asked 
Sylvia. 

To  which  the  other  answered,  "You  may  trust 
me  now,  Sunny!  You  have  made  him  into  a 
soft  dough,  and  I'll  knead  him."  And  sure  enough, 
the  new  Beauregard  Dabney  sent  his  aunts  and 
uncles  flying,  and  followed  Harriet  to  her  summer 
home  on  the  Gulf,  and  was  hardly  to  be  induced 
to  wait  for  a  conventional  wedding — so  eager  was 
he  to  prove  to  himself  and  to  Sylvia  Castleman 
that  he  was  really  not  a  coward  and  a  snob! 


§31 

IT  was  in  the  midst  of  these  adventures  that 
Frank  Shirley  made  his  unexpected  return  from 
the  North.  On  the  day  when  he  came  to  see 
her  first,  she  naturally  forgot  about  the  existence 
of  Beauregard  Dabney — until  Beauregard  sud 
denly  appeared  and  flew  into  a  fit  of  jealousy. 
Then  the  imp  of  mischievousness  got  hold  of 
Sylvia;  she  found  herself  wondering,  "Would  it 
be  possible  for  Frank  to  be  jealous  of  Beaure 
gard?  And  if  he  was,  how  would  he  behave?" 


138  SYLVIA 

"I  knew  it  was  dreadful  then,"  she  told  me, 
"but  I  couldn't  have  helped  it  if  I'd  been  risking 
my  life.  I  had  to  see  what  Frank  would  do  when 
he  was  jealous.  I  simply  had  to!  It  was  a  kind 
of  insanity!" 

So  she  tried  it,  and  did  not  get  much  fun  out 
of  the  experience.  Frank  was  like  an  Indian  in 
captivity;  he  could  not  be  made  to  cry  out  under 
torture.  He  saw  Beauregard's  position,  and  the 
unconcealed  delight  of  the  family;  .but  he  set 
his  lips  together  and  never  gave  a  sign.  Sylvia 
was  going  away  for  the  summer,  and  Beauregard 
was  talking  about  following  her.  There  would 
be  other  suitors  following  her,  no  doubt — and  new 
ones  on  the  ground.  Frank  went  home,  and 
Sylvia  did  not  hear  from  him  for  several  days. 

The  Beauregard  episode  came  to  its  appointed 
end,  and  then,  hi  a  letter  to  Frank,  Sylvia  men 
tioned  that  she  had  accomplished  her  purpose — 
the  youth  was  engaged  to  Harriet.  She  thought 
this  was  explaining  things.  But  how  could  Frank 
imagine  the  complications  of  the  art  of  man- 
catching?  Was  Sylvia  jesting  with  him,  or  try 
ing  to  blind  him,  or  apologizing  to  him,  or  what? 

Sylvia  kept  putting  off  her  start  to  the  moun 
tains — she  could  not  bear  to  go  while  things  were 
in  such  a  state  between  them.  But,  while  she 
was  still  hesitating,  to  her  consternation  she 
received  a  note  from  him  saying  that  he  was 
starting  for  Colorado.  He  had  received  a  tele 
gram  that  an  aunt  was  dead ;  there  were  business 
matters  to  be  attended  to — some  property  which 


SYLVIA   LOVES  139 

for  his  sisters'  sake  could  not  be  neglected.  It 
was  a  cold,  business-like  note,  with  not  a  word 
of  sorrow  at  parting;  and  Sylvia  shed  tears  over 
it.  Such  is  the  irrationality  of  those  in  love,  she 
had  forgotten  all  about  young  Dabney  or  any 
other  cause  for  doubt  and  unhappiness  she  might 
haye  given  Frank.  She  thought  that  he,  and  he 
alone,  had  been  unkind.  And  meantime,  Frank 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  she  was  repenting 
of  her  engagement,  and  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
make  it  easy  for  her  to  withdraw. 

So  the  two  spent  an  unhappy  summer.  Sylvia 
let  herself  be  taken  about  to  parties,  but  she 
grew  more  weary  every  hour  of  the  social  game. 
"I've  smiled  until  I've  got  the  lockjaw,"  she 
would  say.  She  was  losing  weight  and  growing 
pale,  in  spite  of  the  mountain  air. 

September  came,  and  Harriet's  wedding  was 
set  for  the  next  month,  and  likewise  Frank's 
return  to  Harvard.  He  came  back  from  the 
West,  and  Sylvia  wrote  asking  him  to  come  and 
visit  her  for  a  week.  But  to  her  consternation 
there  came  in  reply  a  polite  refusal  from  Frank. 
There  was  so  much  that  needed  his  attention 
on  the  plantation,  and  some  studying  that  must 
be  done  if  he  was  to  make  good.  For  three  days 
Sylvia  struggled  with  herself,  the  last  stand  of 
that  barbarian  pride  of  hers;  then  she  gave  way 
completely  and  sent  him  a  telegram:  "Please 
come  at  once." 

She  would  have  recalled  it  an  hour  afterwards, 
but  it  was  too  late;  and  that  evening  she  received 


140  SYLVIA 

an  answer,  to  the  effect  that  he  would  arrive  in 
the  morning.  She  spent  a  sleepless  night  imagin 
ing  his  coming,  and  a  score  of  different  ways  in 
which  she  would  meet  him.  She  would  throw 
herself  at  his  feet  and  beg  him  not  to  torture 
her;  she  would  array  herself  in  her  newest  gown 
and  fascinate  him  in  the  good  old  way;  she  would 
climb  once  more  upon  the  pinnacle  of  her  pride 
and  compel  him  to  humble  himself  before  her. 

In  the  morning  she  drove  to  meet  him,  together 
with  a  cousin  who  had  come  on  the  same  train. 
She  never  stood  a  worse  social  ordeal  than  that 
drive  and  the  luncheon  with  the  family.  But  at 
last  they  were  alone  together,  and  sat  gazing  at 
each  other  with  eyes  full  of  bewilderment  and 
pain. 

"Sylvia,"  said  Frank,  finally,  "you  do  not 
look  happy." 

"Why  should  I  be  happy?"  she  asked. 

There  was  a  pause.  "Listen,"  he  said.  "Can 
we  not  deal  honestly  with  each  other — openly 
and  sincerely,  for  once.  Surely  that  is  the  best 
way,  Sylvia — no  matter  how  much  it  hurts." 

"I  am  ready  to  do  it,"  she  replied. 

"You  don't  have  to  spare  my  feelings,"  he  went 
on.  "I  know  all  you  have  to  contend  with,  and 
I  shan't  blame  you.  The  one  thing  I  can't  bear 
is  to  be  played  with,  to  be  lured  by  false  hopes, 
to  drag  on  and  on,  tormented  by  uncertainty." 

She  was  gazing  at  him,  bewildered.  "Why  do 
you  say  all  that,  Frank?"  she  cried. 

"Why  should  I  not  say  it?"  he  asked;  and 
again  they  stared  at  each  other. 


SYLVIA  LOVES  141 

Suddenly  she  broke  out,  in  a  voice  full  of 
anguish,  "Frank,  this  is  what  I  want  to  know — 
answer  me  this!  Do  you  love  me?" 

"Do  I  love  you?"  he  echoed. 

"Yes," — and  with  greater  intensity,  "I  want 
you  to  be  honest  about  it!" 

" Honey!"  he  said,  his  voice  trembling,  "it's 
the  question  of  whether  I'm  allowed  to  love  you. 
It's  so  terrible  to  me — I  can't  stand  the  uncer 
tainty." 

She  cried  again,  "But  do  you  want  to  love  me?" 

She  heard  his  voice  break,  she  saw  the  emo 
tion  that  was  shaking  him,  and  with  a  sudden 
sob  she  was  in  his  arms.  "Oh,  Frank,  Frank!" 
she  exclaimed.  "What  have  we  been  doing  to 
each  other?" 

And  so  at  last  the  fog  of  misunderstanding  was 
lifted.  "Sweetheart,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  could 
you  have  been  thinking?" 

"I  thought  you  had  stopped  loving  me  because 
I  had  been  too  bold,  because  I  had  been  un 
womanly." 

"Why,  Sylvia,  you  must  be  mad!  Have  I  not 
been  hungry  for  your  love?" 

"Oh,  tell  me  that  I  can  love  you!"  she  wailed. 
"Tell  me  that  you  won't  grow  tired  of  me  if  I 
love  you!" 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  covered  her  lips 
with  kisses;  he  soothed  her  like  a  frightened  child. 
She  was  free  now  to  sob  out  her  grief,  to  tell  him 
what  she  had  felt  throughout  all  these  months  of 
misery.  "Oh,  why  didn't  you  come  to  me  like 
this  before?"  she  asked. 


142  SYLVIA 

"But,  Sylvia,"  he  answered,  "how  could  I 
know?  I  saw  you  letting  another  man  make 
love  to  you 

"But,  Frank,  that  was  only  a  joke!" 

"But  how  could  I  know  that?" 

"How  could  you  imagine  anything  else?  That 
I  could  prefer  Beauregard  Dabney  to  you!" 

"That's  easy  to  say,"  he  replied.  "But  there 
was  your  family — I  knew  what  they'd  prefer, 
and  I  saw  how  they  were  struggling  to  keep  us 
apart.  And  what  was  I  to  think — why  should 
you  be  giving  him  your  time,  unless  you  wanted 
to  let  me  know " 

"Ah,  don't  say  that!  Don't  say  that!"  she 
cried,  quickly.  "It's  wicked  that  such  a  thing 
should  have  happened." 

"We  must  learn  to  talk  things  out  frankly," 
he  said.  "For  one  thing  you  must  not  let  your 
family  come  between  us  again.  You  must  free 
me  from  this  dreadful  fear  that  they  are  going 
to  take  you  from  me." 

And  suddenly  Sylvia  blazed  up.  All  the  mis 
understanding  had  come  from  the  opposition  of 
her  family,  and  her  unwillingness  to  talk  to  Frank 
about  it.  "I  never  saw  it  so  clearly  before," 
she  exclaimed.  "Frank,  I  can  never  make  them 
see  things  my  way.  And  they'll  always  have 
this  dreadful  power  over  me — because  I  love 
them  so!' 

"What  can  you  do  then?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  going  to  betray  them  to  you!"  she  cried. 
And  as  he  looked  puzzled,  she  went  on,  "I'm 


SYLVIA  LOVES  143 

going  to  tell  you  about  them!  I'm  going  to  tell 
3'ou  everything  they've  said  and  done,  and  every 
thing  they  may  say  and  do  in  the  future!" 

"And  that,"  said  Frank  to  me,  "was  the  most 
loving  thing  she  ever  said!"  Such  was  the  power, 
in  Sylvia's  world,  of  the  ideal  of  the  Family! 


BOOK  II 


Sylvia  Lingers 


10 


§  1 

AT  the  railroad  station  in  Boston,  on  an  after 
noon  in  May,  Sylvia  Castleman  and  Mrs.  Tuis 
were  arriving  from  New  York.  You  must  picture 
Sylvia  in  a  pale  grey  cloak,  with  a  pale  blue 
blouse;  also  a  grey  hat  with  broad  brim  and 
"bluets"  on  top.  You  can  imagine,  perhaps, 
how  her  colors  shone  from  under  it.  She  was 
meeting  Frank  for  the  first  time  in  eight  months. 

The  host  of  the  occasion  was  Cousin  Harley 
Chilton,  now  also  a  student  at  Harvard.  It  was 
mid-afternoon,  and  he  had  borrowed  a  motor  car 
to  show  her  something  of  Cambridge.  Their 
bags  were  sent  to  their  hotel  in  the  city,  and 
Frank  took  his  place  by  Sylvia's  side.  They 
had  to  talk  about  commonplaces,  but  he  could 
feel  her  delight  and  eagerness  like  an  electric 
radiance.  As  they  flew  over  the  long  bridge, 
he  wrapped  a  robe  about  her.  What  a  thrill 
went  through  him  as  he  touched  her!  "Oh,  I'm 
so  happy!  so  happy!"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
shining  into  his.  He  had  given  her  a  new  name 
hi  his  letters,  and  he  whispered  it  now  into  her 
ear:  "Lady  Sunshine!  Lady  Sunshine!" 

They  came  to  a  vista  of  dark  stone  buildings, 
buried  in  the  foliage  of  enormous  elms.  "Here 
are  the  grounds,"  he  said;  and  Sylvia  cried,  "Oh 
Harley,  go  slowly,  I  want  to  see  them."  Her 


148  SYLVIA 

cousin  complied,  and  Frank  began  pointing  out 
the  various  buildings  by  name. 

But  suddenly  the  car  drew  hi  by  the  curb  and 
stopped.  Harley  leaned  forward,  remarking, 
"Spark-plug  loose,  I  think." 

Now  the  sparking  seemed  to  be  all  right,  so 
far  as  Frank  could  judge,  but  he  did  not  know 
very  much  about  automobiles.  In  general  he  was 
a  guileless  nature,  and  did  not  understand  that 
this  was  the  beginning  of  Sylvia's  social  career  at 
Harvard.  But  Sylvia,  who  knew  about  automo 
biles,  and  still  more  about  human  nature,  saw 
two  men  strolling  in  her  direction,  and  now  about 
twenty  yards  away — upper  classmen,  clad  in  white 
flannel  trousers,  blue  coats,  huge  straw  hats  like 
baskets,  and  ties  knotted  with  that  elaborately 
studied  carelessness  which  means  that  the  wearer 
has  spent  fifteen  minutes  before  the  mirror  prior 
to  emerging  from  his  room. 

Naturally  Sylvia  looked  at  them,  for  they 
were  interesting  figures;  and  naturally  they 
looked  back,  for  Sylvia  was  an  interesting  figure 
too.  One  could  not  hear,  but  could  almost  see 
them  exclaiming:  "By  Jove!  Who  is  she?" 
They  went  by — almost,  but  not  quite.  They 
stopped,  half  turned  and  stood  hesitating. 

Harley  looked  up  from  his  spark-plugs,  a  frown 
of  annoyance  on  his  face.  He  glanced  toward 
the  two  men.  "Hello,  Harmon,"  he  said. 

"Hello,  Chilton,"  was  the  reply.  "Some 
thing  wrong?" 

"Yes,"  said  Harley,     "Can't  make  it  out." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  149 

The  two  approached,  lifting  their  hats,  the 
one  who  had  spoken  a  trifle  in  advance.  "Can 
I  help?"  he  asked,  solicitously. 

"I  think  I  can  manage  it,"  answered  Harley; 
but  the  men  did  not  move  on.  "Whose  car?" 
asked  the  one  called  Harmon. 

"Bert  Wilson's,"  said  Harley.  "I  don't  know 
its  tricks." 

The  other's  eyes  swept  the  car,  and  of  course 
rested  on  Sylvia,  who  was  in  the  seat  nearest  the 
curb.  That  made  an  awkward  moment — as  he 
intended  it  should.  "Mr.  Harmon,"  said  Harley, 
"let  me  present  you  to  my  cousin,  Miss  Castle- 
man." 

The  man  brightened  instantly  and  made  a  bow. 
"I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,  Miss  Castleman," 
he  said,  and  introduced  his  companion.  "You 
have  just  arrived?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia. 

"But  you've  been  here  before?" 

"Never  befo-ah,"  said  Sylvia;  whereupon  he 
knew  from  what  part  of  the  world  she  had  come. 
There  began  an  animated  conversation — Harley 
and  his  spark-plugs  being  forgotten  entirely. 

All  this  Frank  watched,  sitting  back  in  his 
seat  in  silence.  He  knew  these  men  to  be  Seniors, 
high  and  mighty  swells  from  the  "Gold  Coast;" 
but  he  had  never  been  introduced  to  them,  and 
so  he  was  technically  as  much  a  stranger  to  them 
as  if  he  had  just  arrived  from  the  far  South  him 
self.  Sylvia,  who  was  new  to  the  social  customs 
of  Harvard,  never  dreamed  of  this  situation,  and 
so  left  him  to  watch  the  comedy  undisturbed. 


150  SYLVIA 

There  came  along  a  couple  of  Freshmen;  class 
mates  of  Harley's  and  members  of  his  set.  He 
was  buried  in  his  labors,  but  they  were  not  to 
be  put  off.  "What's  the  matter,  old  man?" 
they  asked;  and  when  he  answered,  "Don't 
know,"  they  stood,  and  waited  for  him  to  find 
out,  stealing  meantime  fascinated  glances  at  the 
vision  in  the  car. 

Next  came  two  street-boys;  and  of  course 
street-boys  always,  stop  and  stare  when  there 
is  a  car  out  of  order.  Then  came  an  old  gentle 
man,  who  paused,  smiling  benevolently,  as  he 
might  have  paused  to  survey  a  florist's  window. 
So  there  was  Sylvia,  quite  by  accident,  and  in 
perfect  innocence,  holciing  a  levee  on  the  side 
walk,  with  two  men  whose  ties  proclaimed  them 
members  of  an  ineffable  and  awe-inspiring  "final" 
club  doing  homage  to  her. 

"My  cousin's  a  Freshman,"  she  was  saying. 
"So  I'll  have  three  years  more  to  come  here." 

"Oh,  but  think  of  us!"  exclaimed  the  basket- 
hats  together.  "We  go  out  next  month!" 

"Can't  you  manage  to  fail  in  your  exams?" 
she  inquired.  "Or  is  that  impossible  at  Har 
vard?"  She  looked  from  one  to  another,  and 
in  the  laugh  that  followed  even  the  street-boys 
and  the  benevolent  old  gentleman  joined. 

By  that  time  the  gathering  was  assuming  the 
proportions  of  a  scandal.  Men  were  coming 
from  the  "Yard"  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"Hello,  Frank  Shirley,"  called  a  voice.  "Any 
body  hurt?"  And  Sylvia  answered  in  a  low 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  151 

voice,  "Yes,  several."  She  looked  straight  into 
Harmon's  eyes,  and  she  got  his  answer — that  she 
had  not  spoken  too  rashly. 

The  seance  came  to  a  sudden  end,  because 
Harley  realized  that  he  was  subjecting  club  men 
to  an  ordeal  on  the  street.  He  straightened  up 
from  his  spark-plug.  "I  think  she's  all  right 
now,"  he  said — and  to  one  of  the  street-boys, 
"Crank  her  up,  there." 

"Where  are  you  stopping?"  asked  Harmon. 

Harley  named  the  hotel,  but  did  not  take  the 
hint — which  was  presumptuous  in  a  Freshman. 
"Good-bye,  Miss  Castleman,"  said  the  Senior, 
wistfully;  and  the  crowd  parted  and  the  car 
went  on. 

After  which  Sylvia  sank  back  in  her  seat  and 
looked  at  Frank  and  laughed.  "Isn't  it  wonder 
ful,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  a  woman  can  do  with 
her  eyes!" 

§2 

THEY  returned  to  the  hotel,  where  there  were 
engagements — a  whole  world  waiting  to  be  con 
quered.  But  Sylvia  delivered  an  ultimatum; 
she  would  pay  no  attention  to  anyone  until  she 
had  an  hour  alone  with  Frank.  When  Aunt 
Varina  had  meekly  left  her,  she  first  flew  into 
Frank's  arms  and  permitted  him  to  kiss  her; 
and  then,  seated  decorously  in  a  separate  chair, 
she  proceeded  to  explain  to  him  the  mystery  of 
her  presence  there. 


152  SYLVIA 

She  had  come  to  New  York  to  buy  clothes  for 
herself  and  the  rest  of  the  family;  that  much 
Frank  had  known.  He  had  begged  her  to  run 
up  to  Cambridge,  but  the  family  had  refused 
permission.  Celeste  was  going  to  have  a  house 
party,  the  baby  had  been  having  more  convul 
sions — these  were  only  two  of  a  dozen  reasons 
why  she  must  return.  Frank  had  been  intending 
to  go  down  to  New  York  to  see  her — when  sud 
denly  had  come  a  telegram,  saying  that  she  would 
arrive  the  next  afternoon. 

"It  was  my  scheme,"  she  said,  "and  I  expect 
you  to  be  proud  of  me  when  you  hear  it.  If 

you  scold  me  about  it,  Frank !"  She  said 

this  with  the  tone  of  voice  that  she  used  when 
it  was  necessary  to  disarm  some  one. 

It  was  difficult  for  Frank  to  imagine  himself 
objecting  to  any  device  which  had  brought  her 
there.  "Go  ahead,  honey,"  said  he. 

"It  has  to  do  with  Harley,"  she  explained. 
"Mother  sent  me  one  of  his  letters,  telling  about 
the  terrible  tune  he's  been  having  here.  You 
see,  he's  scared  to  death  for  fear  he  won't  make 
the  'Dickey' — or  that  he  won't  be  among  the 
earlier  tens.  So  they  were  all  upset,  and  they've 
been  scurrying  round  getting  letters  of  introduc 
tion  for  him,  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  get 
him  hi  with  the  right  people.  I  read  his  letter, 
and  then  suddenly  the  thought  flashed  over  me, 
'There's  my  chance!'  Don't  you  see?" 

"No,"  said  Frank,  and  shook  his  head— "I 
don't  see  at  all." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  153 

"Sometimes,"  said  the  girl,  "when  I  think 
about  you,  I  get  frightened,  because — if  you 
knew  how  wicked  I  really  am — !  Well,  anyhow, 
I  sat  down  and  wrote  to  Harley  that  he  was  a 
goose,  and  that  if  he  had  sense  enough  to  get 
me  to  Harvard,  he'd  make  the  'Dickey/  and 
one  of  the  'final'  clubs  as  well.  I  told  him  to 
write  Aunt  Nannie  at  once;  and  sure  enough, 
just  about  the  tune  they  got  Harley's  letter, 
there  came  a  telegram  saying  I  might  come!" 

It  was  impossible  for  Frank  not  to  laugh — 
if  it  were  only  because  Sylvia  was  so  happy.  "So," 
he  said,  "you've  come  to  be  a  social  puller- 
in  for  Harley!" 

"Now,  Frank,  don't  be  horrid!  I  saw  it  this 
way — and  it's  obvious  arithmetic:  If  I  do  this, 
I'll  see  Frank  part  of  every  day  for  a  couple  of 
weeks;  if  I  don't,  I'll  only  see  him  for  a  day 
when  he  comes  to  New  York.  There's  only  one 
trouble — you  must  promise  not  to  mind." 

"What  is  it?" 

"We  must  not  tell  anybody  that  we're  engaged. 
If  people  knew  that,  I  couldn't  do  much  with 
them." 

"But  I've  told  some  people." 

"Whom?" 

"Well,  my  room-mate." 

"He's  not  a  club  man,  so  that  won't  matter. 
It  doesn't  really  matter,  if  we  simply  don't  an 
nounce  it.  You  must  promise  not  to  mind, 
Frank — be  good,  and  let  me  have  my  fun  hi  my 
foolish  way,  and  you  sit  by  and  smile,  as  you  did 
in  the  car." 


154  SYLVIA 

Frank's  answer  was  that  he  expected  to  sit  by 
and  smile  all  his  life;  a  statement  which  led  to 
a  discussion  between  them,  for  Sylvia  made 
objection  to  his  desire  to  shrink  from  the  world, 
and  declared  that  she  meant  to  fight  for  him,  and 
manage  him,  and  make  something  out  of  him. 
When  these  discussions  arose  he  would  laugh, 
in  his  quiet,  good-natured  way,  and  picture  him 
self  as  a  diplomat  at  St.  James',  wearing  knee- 
breeches  and  winning  new  empires  by  means  of 
the  smiles  of  "Lady  Sunshine."  "But,  you 
forget  one  thing,"  he  said — "that  I  came  to 
Harvard  to  learn  something." 

"When  you  go  out  into  the  world,"  propounded 
Sylvia,  "you'll  realize  that  the  things  one  knows 
aren't  half  so  important  as  the  people  one  knows." 

Frank  laughed.  "That  wouldn't  be  such  a 
bad  motto  for  our  Alma  Mater,"  he  said;  then, 
thinking  it  over,  "They  might  put  it  up  as  an 
inscription,  where  Freshmen  with  social  ambitions 
could  learn  it.  A  motto  for  all  college  climbers — 
'Not  the  things  one  knows,  but  the  people  one 
knows!' ' 

Sylvia  was  looking  at  him,  a  trifle  worried. 
"Frank,"  she  said,  "suppose  you  go  through  life 
finding  fault  with  everything  in  that  fashion?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "But  I  shall 
always  fight  a  wrong  when  I  see  one.  Wait  till 
you've  been  here  a  while,  and  you'll  see  about 
this!" 

"I  ought  to  have  come  before,"  she  said;  "I 
could  have  solved  so  many  problems  for  you. 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  155 

It's  the  same  everywhere  in  life — those  who  are 
out  rail  at  those  who  are  in,  but  when  you  hear 
both  sides,  you  see  the  matter  differently.  I've 
a  grudge  against  you,  Frank — you  misrepresented 
things.  You  told  me  they  had  abolished  the 
Fraternity  system  here,  and  I  didn't  know  about 
the  clubs,  and  so  I  permitted  you  to  be  a  'goat.'  ' 

"They  call  it  a  'rough-neck'  here,"  he  corrected. 

"Well,  a  'rough-neck.'  Anyway,  I  let  you 
take  a  back  seat.  And  just  as  if  you  didn't  have 
ability " 

"Ability!"  Frank  exclaimed.  Then,  checking 
himself,  he  went  on  gently  to  explain  the  social 
system  he  had  found  at  Harvard.  In  the  Southern 
colleges,  ability  and  good  breeding  might  still 
get  a  poor  man  recognition.  But  the  clubs  here 
were  run  by  a  little,  group  of  Boston  and  New 
York  society  men,  who  had  been  kept  in  a  "set" 
from  the  day  they  were  born.  They  went  to 
kindergarten  together,  to  dancing  school  together 
— their  sisters  had  private  sewing  circles,  instead 
of  those  at  church.  They  had  their  semi-private 
dormitories  on  Auburn  Street — one  might  come 
with  a  string  of  automobiles  and  a  stud  of  polo 
ponies,  but  he  would  find  that  his  money  would 
not  rent  one  of  those  places  unless  the  crowd  had 
given  its  O.  K.  They  roomed  apart,  they  ate  and 
drank  apart,  and  the  men  in  their  own  class  never 
even  met  them. 

Sylvia  listened  in  bewilderment.  "Surely, 
Frank,"  she  exclaimed,  "there  must  be  some 
friendliness " 


156  SYLVIA 

He  smiled.  "Just  as  I  said,  honey — you're 
judging  by  the  South.  We've  snobbery  enough 
there,  God  knows — but  some  of  us  are  kind- 
hearted.  You  can't  imagine  things  up  here — 
how  cold  and  formal  people  are.  They  have 
their  millions  of  dollars  and  the  social  position 
this  gives  them;  they  are  jealous  of  those  who 
have  more  and  suspicious  of  those  who  have 
less — and  they've  been  that  way  for  so  long  that 
every  plain  human  feeling  is  dead  in  them.  Take 
a  man  like  Douglas  van  Tuiver,  for  example. 
You've  heard  of  him,  I  suppose?" 

"I've  heard  of  the  van  Tuivers,  of  course." 

"Well,  Douglas  is  our  bright  particular  social 
star  just  now.  He's  inherited  from  three  estates 
already — the  Lord  only  knows  how  many  tens  of 
millions  in  his  own  right.  He's  gone  the  'Gold 
Coast'  crowd  one  better — has  his  own  private 
house  here  in  Cambridge,  and  an  apartment  in 
Boston  also,  I'm  told.  He  entered  society  there 
at  the  same  time  that  he  entered  college;  and  he 
doesn't  think  much  of  our  social  life — except  the 
little  set  he'd  already  met  in  Boston  and  New 
York.  He's  stiff  and  serious  as  a  chief  justice — 
self-conscious,  condescending 

"Do  you  know  him?"  asked  Sylvia. 

"I  never  met  him,  of  course;  but  I  see  him 
all  the  time,  because  he's  in  some  of  my  sections." 

"In  some  of  your  sections!"  cried  Sylvia. 
"And  you  never  met  him?" 

The  other  laughed.  "You  see,  honey,"  he  said, 
"how  little  you  are  able  to  imagine  life  at  Har- 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  157 

vard!  Douglas,  my  dear,  has  been  yachting  with 
English  peers;  he  has  Scotch  earls  for  ancestors, 
and  an  accent  that  he  has  acquired  in  their  honor. 
He  sets  more  store  by  them,  I  suppose,  than  he 
does  by  his  old  Knickerbocker  ancestors,  who  left 
him  several  farms  between  Fifth  and  Madison 
Avenues." 

"  Is  he  a  club  man?"  asked  Sylvia. 

"He  lives  to  set  the  social  standards  for  our 
clubs;  a  sort  of  arbiter  elegantiarum.  It's  one  of 
the  sayings  they  attribute  to  him,  that  he  came 
to  Harvard  because  American  university  life  was 
in  need  of  Hone.' ' 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  exclaimed  Sylvia;  and  again, 
in  a  lower  voice,  "Oh,  dear  me!"  She  pondered, 
and  then  with  sudden  interest  inquired,  "He'd 
be  a  good  man  for  Harley  to  meet,  wouldn't  he?" 

"None  better,"  smiled  Frank,  "if  he  wants  to 
make  the  'Dickey.' ' 

"Then,"  said  Sylvia,  "he's  the  man  I'd  best 
go  after." 

The  other  laughed.  "All  right,  honey.  But 
you'll  find  him  hard  to  interest,  I  warn  you.  His 
career  has  all  been  planned — he's  to  marry 
Dorothy  Cortlandt,  who'll  bring  him  ten  or 
twenty  millions  more." 

And  Sylvia  set  her  lips  in  a  dangerous  expres 
sion.  "He  can  marry  Dorothy  Cortlandt,"  she 
said,  "but  not  until  I've  got  through  with  him!" 


158  SYLVIA 

§3 

THAT  evening  was  reserved  for  a  performance 
of  the  "Glee  Club;"  and  just  before  dinner 
Harley  came  in,  bubbling  over  with  delight,  to 
say  that  Harmon  had  called  up  and  invited  him 
to  bring  his  cousin  and  share  his  box. 

And  so  behold  Sylvia,  clad  in  pale  blue  silk, 
with  touches  of  gold  embroidery  and  a  gold  band 
across  one  shoulder,  swimming  like  a  new  planet 
into  the  ken  of  the  watchers  of  these  brilliantly 
lighted  skies.  There  were  few  acquaintances  of 
"Bob"  Harmon  who  did  not  come  to  the  door 
of  the  box  to  get  a  closer  view  of  the  phenomenon ; 
while  the  delighted  cousin  found  himself  besieged. 
Sedate  upper-classmen  put  their  arms  across  his 
shoulders,  tremendous  club  men  got  him  by  the 
coat  sleeve  in  the  lobby.  "Let  us  in  on  that, 
Chilton!"  "Now  don't  be  a  hog,  old  man!"- 
"You  know  me,  Chilton!"  Yes,  Harley  knew 
them  all,  and  calculated  to  keep  knowing  them 
for  some  time  to  come. 

The  next  morning  he  came  early,  and  took  Sylvia 
for  a  drive,  to  lay  before  her  the  whole  situation, 
and  coach  her  for  the  part  she  was  to  play;  for 
this  was  the  enemy's  country,  and  there  were 
many  pitfalls  to  be  avoided. 

It  ought  perhaps  to  be  explained  at  the  outset 
how  it  happened  that  Aunt  Nannie,  whose  time 
was  spent  in  erecting  monuments  to  Southern 
heroes,  had  sent  one  of  her  sons  to  the  headquarters 
of  those  who  had  slain  them.  It  had  come  about 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  159 

through  the  seductions  of  a  young  lady  named 
Edith  Winthrop,  whose  father  was  building  a 
railroad  through  half  a  dozen  of  the  Southern 
states.  He  had  brought  a  private-train  party 
upon  an  inspection  trip,  and  the  Major  and 
Harley,  happening  to  be  at  the  capital,  had  met 
them  at  a  luncheon  given  by  the  Governor. 
Everybody  knows,  of  course,  that  the  Winthrops 
live  in  Boston;  and  everybody  in  Boston  knows 
of  Mrs.  Isabel  Winthrop,  that  charming  matron 
whose  home  has  been  as  the  axle  of  the  Hub  for 
the  past  twenty  years.  At  Cambridge  it  was  at 
first  a  scandal,  and  later  a  tradition,  how  the 
lovely  lady  was  strolling  in  the  "Yard"  one 
spring  evening,  and  a  group  of  Seniors  broke  into 
the  merry  chorus  of  a  popular  musical-comedy 
air — 

"Isabella,  Isabella, 
Is  a  queen  of  good  society! 
Isabella,  Isabella, 
Is  the  dandy  queen  of  Spain!" 

And  now  Harley  had  come  to  Cambridge  to 
lay  siege  to  the  princess  of  this  line.  They  had 
invited  him  to  tea,  where  he  had  felt  himself  an 
obscure  and  humiliated  Freshman.  In  his  pride 
he  had  gone  away,  vowing  that  he  would  not 
return  until  he  had  made  the  "  Dickey,"  and  made 
it  without  any  social  aid  from  the  lady  of  his 
adoration.  But,  alas,  Harley  had  found  this  a 
task  of  undreamed-of  difficulty.  There  were  so 
many  Edith  Winthrops  in  Boston,  New  York, 


160  SYLVIA 

Philadelphia  and  other  centers  of  good  breeding; 
and  there  were  so  many  obscure  Freshmen  trying 
to  make  the  " Dickey"  in  order  to  shine  before 
them! 

"You  can't  imagine  how  it  is,  Sylvia,"  he  said. 
"They  don't  know  us  here — we're  nobodies. 
I've  met  all  the  Southern  men  who  amount  to 
anything,  but  it's  Eastern  men  who  run  the 
worth-while  clubs.  And  it's  almost  impossible  to 
meet  them — I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  I've 
had  to  toady." 

"Harley!"  exclaimed  the  girl. 

"I'll  tell  you  the  facts,"  he  answered — "you'll 
have  to  face  them — just  as  I  did." 

"But  how  could  you  stay?" 

He  laughed.  "I  stayed,"  he  said,  "because  I 
wanted  Edith." 

He  paused,  then  continued:  "First  I  thought 
I'd  try  football;  but  you  see  I  haven't  weight 
enough — I  only  made  the  Freshman  'scrub.' 
I  joined  the  Shooting  Club--  and  I  certainly  can 
shoot,  you  know;  but  that  hasn't  seemed  to  help 
very  much.  I  went  in  for  the  Banjo  Club,  and 
I've  worked  my  fingers  off,  and  I  expect  to  make 
the  Board,  but  I  don't  think  that  will  be  enough. 
You  see,  ability  really  doesn't  count  at  all." 

"That's  what  Frank  said,"  remarked  Sylvia, 
sympathetically.  "What  is  it  that  counts? 
Learning?" 

"Rot — no! '  exclaimed  Harley. 

uThen  what  is  it?" 

"It's  knowing  the  right  people.     But  you  can't 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  161 

manage  that  here — it  has  to  be  done  before  you 
get  to  college.  The  crowd  doesn't  need  you, 
they  don't  care  what  you  think  about  them — and 
I  tell  you,  they  know  how  to  give  you  the  cold 
shoulder!" 

Sylvia  was  indignant  in  spite  of  herself.  "You, 
a  Castleman!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  your 
ancestors  were  governors  of  this  place  while 
theirs  were  tavern-keepers  and  blacksmiths!" 

"I  know,"  said  the  other — "but  it  isn't  ancestors 
that  count  here — it's  being  on  the  ground  and 
holding  on  to  what  you've  got." 

"They're  all  rich  men,  I  suppose?" 

"Perfectly  rotten!  You're  simply  out  of  it 
from  the  start.  I  heard  of  a  man  last  year  who 
spent  fifty  thousand  dollars  trying  to  make  the 
' Dickey,'  and  then  only  got  in  the  seventh  ten! 
You've  no  idea  of  the  lengths  men  go  to;  they 
pull  every  sort  of  wire,  social  and  business  and 
financial  and  political — they  bring  on  their  fathers 
and  brothers  to  help  them ' 

"And  their  cousins,"  said  Sylvia,  and  brought 
the  discussion  to  an  end  with  a  laugh.  "Now 
come,  Harley,"  she  said,  after  a  pause.  "Let's 
get  down  to  business.  You  want  me  to  meet 
the  right  men,  and  to  make  them  aware  of  the 
existence  of  my  Freshman  cousin.  Have  you  got 
a  list  of  the  men?  Or  am  I  to  know  by  their 
ties?" 

Harley  named  and  described  several  she  would 
meet.  Through  them  she  would,  of  course,  meet 
others;  she  must  feel  her  way  step  by  step,  being 

H 


162  SYLVIA 

guided  by  circumstances.  There  was  another 
matter,  which  was  delicate,  but  must  be  broached. 
"I  don't  want  to  seem  like  a  cad,"  said  he, 
"but  you  see,  Frank  Shirley  isn't  a  club  man — he 
hasn't  tried  to  be ' 

"I  understand,"  said  Sylvia,  with  a  smile. 

"Of  course,  the  fact  that  you  come  from  his 
home  town,  that's  excuse  enough  for  his  knowing 
you.  But  if  you  make  it  too  conspicuous — that 
is " 

Harley  stopped.  "It's  all  right,  Harley," 
smiled  Sylvia;  "you  may  be  sure  that  Frank 
Shirley  has  too  much  of  a  sense  of  humor  to  want 
to  get  in  our  way." 

The  other  hesitated  over  the  remark.  It 
looked  like  deep  water,  and  he  decided  not  to 
venture  in.  "It's  not  only  that,"  he  went  on — 
"there's  Frank's  crowd.  They're  all  outsiders, 
and  one  or  two  of  them  especially  are  impossible." 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  there's  Jack  Colton,  Frank's  room-mate. 
He's  gone  out  of  his  way  to  make  himself  obnoxious 
to  everybody.  He's  done  it  deliberately,  and  I 
suppose  he  has  his  reasons  for  it.  I  only  hope  he 
has  sense  enough  not  to  want  to  'queer'  you." 

"What's  he  done?" 

"He's  a  Western  chap — from  Wyoming,  I 
think.  Seems  to  have  more  money  than  he 
knows  how  to  spend  decently.  He  insisted  on 
smoking  a  pipe  in  his  Freshman  year,  and  when 
they  tried  to  haze  him,  he  fought.  He's  wild 
as  anything,  they  say — goes  off  on  a  spree  every 
month  or  two " 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  163 

"How  does  Frank  come  to  be  rooming  with 
such  a  man?"  asked  Sylvia,  in  surprise. 

"Met  him  traveling,  I  understand.  They 
were  in  a  train- wreck." 

"Oh,  that's  the  man!  But  Frank  didn't  tell 
me  he  was  wild." 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  "Frank  would  naturally 
stand  up  for  him.  I  suppose  he's  trying  to  keep 
him  straight." 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  suddenly  Sylvia 
asked,  "Harley,  did  you  ever  meet  Douglas  van 
Tuiver?" 

"No!"  replied  Harley.     "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Nothing — only  I  heard  of  him,  and  I  was 
thinking  perhaps  he'd  be  a  good  man  to  help 
you." 

"Small  doubt  of  that,"  said  the  boy,  with  a 
laugh.  "But  it  might  be  difficult  to  meet  'him." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  he  picks  the  people  he  meets.  And  he 
doesn't  come  to  public  affairs." 

"Stop  and  think  a  minute.  Is  there  nobody 
who  might  know  him?" 

"Why— there's  Mrs.  Winthrop." 

"He  goes  there?" 

"They're  great  chums,  I  understand.  I  could 
get  her  to  invite  you." 

But  Sylvia,  after  a  moment's  thought,  shook  her 
head.  "No,"  she  said,  "I  think  I'll  let  him  take 
me  to  her." 

"By  Jove!"  laughed  Harley.  "That's  cool!" 
And  then  he  asked,  curiously,  "What  makes  you 
pick  him  out?" 


164  SYLVIA 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sylvia.  "I  find  myself 
thinking  about  him.  You  see,  I  meet  men  like 
Mr.  Harmon  and  the  others  last  night — they're 
all  obvious.  I've  known  them  by  the  dozen 
before,  and  I  can  always  tell  what  they'll  say. 
But  this  man  sounds  as  if  he  might  be  different. 

"Humph!"  said  Harley.  "I  wish  you  could 
get  a  chance!  But  I  fear  you'd  find  him  &  difficult 
proposition.  Girls  must  be  forever  throwing 
themselves  at  his  head " 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia.  "But  I  wouldn't  make 
that  mistake."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  added, 
"I  think  it  might  be  good  for  him,  too.  I  might 
make  a  man  of  him!" 


§4 

THERE  was  a  Senior  named  Thurlow,  whom 
Sylvia  had  met  at  the  "Glee  Club"  affair,  and 
who,  after  judicious  approach  through  Harley  and 
Aunt  Varina,  had  secured  her  promise  to  come  to 
tea  in  his  rooms.  So  she  saw  one  of  the  dormi 
tories  on  Auburn  Street,  having  such  modern 
conveniences  as  "buttons,"  a  squash  court,  and 
a  white  marble  swimming  pool — with  a  lounging 
room  at  one  end,  and  easy  chairs  from  which  to 
watch  one's  fellow  mermen  at  play. 

Thurlow  showed  her  about  his  own  apartments, 
equipped  with  that  kind  of  simplicity  that  is  so 
notoriously  expensive.  He  showed  her  his  tennis 
cups  and  rowing  trophies,  talking  most  inter- 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  165 

estmgly  about  the  wonderful  modern  art,  the 
pulling  of  an  oar — in  which  there  are  no  less  than 
seventy  errors  a  man  can  commit  in  the  "catch," 
and  a  hundred-and-seventy  in  the  "stroke." 
Thurlow,  it  appeared,  must  have  committed  sev 
eral  hi  last  year's  race,  for  he  had  snapped  his 
oar,  and  only  saved  the  day  by  jumping  over 
board,  being  picked  up  in  a  state  of  collapse, 
and  reported  as  drowned  in  the  first  newspaper 
extras. 

There  came  others  of  his  set:  Jackson,  the 
coxswain  of  the  crew,  known  as  "Little  Billee," 
a  wizened  up  and  drolly  cynical  personage;  also 
Bates,  his  room-mate,  who  was  called  "Tubby," 
and  was  hard  put  to  it  when  the  ladies  asked  him 
why,  because  he  could  not  explain  that  he  was 
"a  tub  of  guts."  The  wits  declared  that  he 
weighed  two  hundred  and  twenty  when  he  was 
in  training  for  the  fat  man's  race;  he  had  been 
elected  the  official  funny  man  of  his  class,  and 
whenever  he  made  a  joke  he  led  off  with  a  queer 
little  cackle  of  high-pitched  laughter,  which  never 
failed  to  carry  the  company  with  him.  There 
came  Arlow  Bynner,  the  famous  quarter-back, 
and  Tom,  his  twin  brother,  so  much  like  him  that 
when  he  had  first  come  to  college  the  Sophomores 
had  dyed  his  hair.  There  came  Shackleford, 
millionaire  man-of-fashion,  who  had  been  picked 
for  president  of  the  new  Senior  Class,  and  who 
looked  so  immaculate  that  Sylvia  thought  of 
magazine  advertisements  of  leisure-class  brands  of 
tobacco. 


166  SYLVIA 

There  were  six  men  in  the  room,  and  only  two 
women — of  which  one  was  Aunt  Varina,  the  chap- 
erone.  You  can  imagine  that  it  was  an  ordeal 
for  the  other  woman!  It  is  easy  enough  for  a 
girl  to  make  out  when  she  is  looking  at  memorial 
inscriptions  and  historic  elm  trees,  at  smoking 
outfits  and  rowing  sculls;  but  it's  another  matter 
to  be  cornered  by  six  fastidious  upper-classmen, 
their  looks  saying  plainer  than  words:  " We've 
been  hearing  about  you,  but  we're  from  Missouri 
— now  bring  out  your  bag  of  tricks!" 

Poor  Sylvia — she  began,  as  usual,  by  having 
a  fright.  She  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  to 
all  these  men.  She  chose  this  moment  to  recol 
lect  some  warnings  which  had  been  given  by  Har 
riet,  before  she  left  home,  as  to  the  exactingness 
and  blase"ness  of  Northern  college  men;  also 
some  half-ventured  hints  of  her  cousin,  that 
possibly  her  arrows  might  be  too  light  in  the 
shaft  for  the  social  heavyweights  of  this  intel 
lectual  center.  She  gazed  from  one  to  another 
in  agony;  she  bit  her  tongue  until  she  tasted 
blood,  scolding  and  exhorting  herself  like  a  foot 
ball  coach  driving  a  "scrub"  team. 

It  was  "Bob"  Harmon  whose  coming  saved 
her.  The  very  sight  of  him  brought  her  inspira 
tion.  She  had  managed  him,  had  she  not? 
Where  was  the  man  she  had  ever  failed  to  manage? 
She  recollected  how  she  had  looked  at  him,  and 
what  she  had  said  to  him  in  the  auto ;  there  came 
suddenly  the  trumpet-call  in  her  soul,  in  the  far 
deeps  of  her  the  trampling  and  trembling,  the 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  167 

fluttering  of  banners  and  murmuring  of  voices — 
signs  of  the  arrival  of  that  rescuing  host  which 
came  to  her  always  in  emergencies,  and  constituted 
the  miracle  of  Sylvia.  Her  friend  Harriet  Atkin 
son,  herself  no  dullard  in  company,  would  sit  by 
and  watch  the  phenomenon  hi  awe.  "Sunny," 
she  would  say,  "I  can  see  it  coming!  I  can  see 
it  beginning  to  bubble!  The  light  comes  into 
your  eyes,  and  I  whisper  to  myself,  'Now,  now! 
She's  going  to  make  a  killing!' ' 

What  is  it — who  can  say?  That  awakening  hi 
the  soul  of  man,  that  sense  of  uplift,  of  new 
power  arriving,  of  mastery  conscious  and  exultant! 
To  some  it  is  known  as  genius,  and  to  others  as 
God.  To  have  possessed  it  in  some  great  crisis 
is  to  have  made  history;  and  most  strange  have 
been  the  courses  to  which  men  have  been  lured 
by  the  dream  of  keeping  it  continuously — to  stand 
upon  a  pillar  and  be  devoured  by  worms,  to  hide 
in  desert  caves  and  lash  one's  flesh  to  strips — or 
to  wear  tight  stays  and  high-heeled  shoes,  and 
venture  into  a  den  of  Harvard  club-men! 


§5 

HALF  an  hour  or  so  later,  when  they  were 
passing  tea  and  cake,  the  flame  of  her  fun  burned 
less  brightly  for  a  few  minutes,  and  she  had  tune 
to  remember  a  purpose  which  was  stored  away 
in  the  back  of  her  mind.  All  her  faculties  now 


168  SYLVIA 

became  centered  upon  it;  and  those  who  wish 
may  follow  the  winding  serpent  of  her  cunning. 

She  had  been  telling  them  about  the  negro 
boy  who  had  bitten  a  piece  out  of  the  baby. 
Thurlow  remarked,  "Yours  must  be  an  interesting 
part  of  the  world." 

"We  love  it,"  she  said.    "But  you  wouldn't." 

"Why  not?" 

"You'd  miss  too  many  things  you  are  used  to. 
Our  college  boys  have  no  such  luxury  as  this." 
She  looked  about  her. 

"You  think  this  so  very  luxurious?" 

"I  do  indeed.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  think  it's 
good  taste  for  young  fellows." 

"But  why  not?" 

"It  gets  you  out  of  touch  with  life,"  replied 
Sylvia,  with  charming  gravity.  ("Don't  play  too 
long  on  one  string!"  had  been  a  maxim  of  Lady 
Dee.)  "I  think  it's  demoralizing.  This  place 
might  be  a  sanatorium  instead  of  a  dormitory — 
if  only  you  had  elevators  to  take  the  invalids 
upstairs." 

Somebody  remarked,  "We  have  elevators  in 
many  of  the  dormitories." 

"Is  that  really  so?"  asked  Sylvia.  "I  don't 
see  how  you  can  go  beyond  that — unless  some 
of  you  take  to  having  private  houses." 

There  was  a  laugh.  "We've  come  to  that, 
too,"  said  Bates. 

"What?"  cried  the  girl.     "Surely  not!" 

"Douglas  van  Tuiver  has  a  house,"  replied 
Bates. 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  169 

"Surely  you  are  jesting!" 

"No!    I'll  show  it  to  you,  Miss  Castleman." 

"Who  is  Douglas  van  Tuiver?" 

The  men  glanced  at  one  another.  "Haven't 
you  ever  heard  of  the  van  Tuivers?"  asked  one. 

"Who  are  they?"  countered  Sylvia,  who  never 
lied  when  she  could  avoid  it. 

"They  are  one  of  our  oldest  families,"  said 
Shackleford — who  came  from  New  York.  "Also 
one  of  the  best  known." 

"Well,"  said  Sylvia,  duly  rebuked,  "you  see 
how  very  provincial  I  am." 

"He's  a  nephew  of  Mrs.  Harold  Cliveden," 
ventured  Harmon. 

"Cliveden?"  repeated  Sylvia.  "I  think  I've 
heard  that  name."  She  kept  a  straight  face — 
though  the  lady  was  the  reigning  queen  of  New 
port,  and  a  theme  of  the  society  gossip  of  all 
American  newspapers.  Then,  not  to  embarrass 
her  friends  by  too  great  ignorance,  she  hurried 
on,  "But  you  surely  don't  mean  that  this  man  has 
a  house  all  to  himself?" 

"He  has,"  said  Thurlow. 

"He  has  more  than  that,"  said  Jackson.  "He 
has  a  castle  in  Scotland." 

"I  don't  mind  castles  so  much.  One  can 
inherit  them " 

"No,  he  bought  this  one." 

"Well,  even  so — castles  are  romantic  and 
interesting.  One  might  have  a  dream  of  founding 
a  family.  But  for  a  man  to  come  to  college  and 
occupy  a  whole  house — what  motive  could  he 
have  but  ostentation?" 


170  SYLVIA 

No  one  answered — though  she  waited  for  an 
answer.  At  last,  with  a  grave  face,  she  pro 
nounced  the  judgment,  "I  would  expect  to  find 
such  a  man  a  degenerate." 

They  were  evidently  shocked,  but  covered  it 
by  laughing.  "Lord!"  said  Bates,  "I'd  like  to 
have  van  Tuiver  hear  that!" 

"Probably  it  would  be  good  for  him,"  replied 
Sylvia,  coldly. 

Everybody  grinned.  "Wish  you'd  tell  him!" 
said  the  man. 

"I'd  be  delighted." 

"Would  you  really?" 

"Why  certainly." 

"By  Jove,  I  believe  you'd  do  it!"  declared 
Bates. 

"But  why  shouldn't  I  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  When  people  meet  van 
Tuiver  they  sometimes  lose  their  nerve." 

"Is  he  so  very  terrible?" 

"Well,  he's  rather  imposing." 

Then  Sylvia  took  a  new  line.  "Of  course," 
she  said,  hesitatingly,  "I  wouldn't  want  to  be 
irreverent — 

"May  I  go  and  bring  him  here?"  inquired 
Bates,  eagerly. 

To  which  she  replied,  "Perhaps  one  owes  more 
deference  to  Royalty.  Shouldn't  you  take  me  to 
him?" 

"We'll  keep  you  on  a  throne  of  your  own," 
said  Thurlow — "at  least,  while  you  are  here." 
(It  was  quite  as  if  he  had  been  a  Southern  man.) 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  171 

But  Bates  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  his 
idea.  "Won't  you  let  me  go  and  get  him?"  he 
inquired. 

"Does  he  visit  in  dormitories?" 

"Really,  Miss  Castleman,  I'm  not  joking. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  meet  him?" 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Because — we'd  all  like  to  see  what  would 
happen." 

"From  what  you  say  about  him,"  remarked 
Sylvia,  "he  sounds  to  me  like  a  bore.  Or 
at  any  rate,  a  young  man  who  is  in  need  of 
chastening." 

"Exactly!"  cried  Bates.  "And  we'd  like  to 
see  you  attend  to  it!" 

The  time  had  come,  Sylvia  thought,  to  play 
upon  a  new  string.  She  looked  about  her  with 
a  slightly  distrait  air.  "Don't  you  think,"  she 
inquired,  "that  we  are  giving  him  too  large  a 
portion  of  this  charming  afternoon?" 

The  men  appreciated  the  compliment;  but  the 
other  theme  still  enticed  them.  Said  Jackson, 
"We  can't  give  up  the  idea  of  the  chastening,  Miss 
Castleman." 

"Of  course,  if  you  are  afraid  of  him — "  added 
Bates,  slyly. 

There  was  a  momentary  flash  in  Sylvia's  eyes. 
But  then  she  laughed — "You  can't  play  a  game 
like  that  on  me!" 

"We  would  so  like,"  said  Jackson,  "to  see 
van  Tuiver  get  a  drubbing!" 

"Please,  Miss  Castleman!"  added  Harmon, 
"give  him  a  drubbing!" 


172  SYLVIA 

But  the  girl  only  held  out  her  white-gloved 
hands.  "Look  at  these,"  she  said,  "how  pure 
and  spotless!" 

Said  "  Tubby" :  "  I  hereby  register  a  vow,  I  will 
never  partake  of  food  again  until  you  two  have 
met!" 

Sylvia  rose,  looking  bored.  "I'm  going  to  run 
away,"  she  said,  "if  you  don't  find  something 
interesting  to  talk  about."  And  strolling  to 
wards  a  cabinet,  "Mr.  Thurlow,  come  and  intro 
duce  me  to  this  charming  little  Billikin!" 


§6 

SYLVIA  had  promised  to  go  with  Frank  the  next 
day  to  a  luncheon  in  his  rooms.  She  found  her 
self  looking  forward  with  relief  to  meeting  his 
"crowd."  "Oh,  Frank,"  she  said,  when  they 
had  set  out  together,  "you've  no  idea  how  glad 
I  am  to  see  you.  I  have  such  a  craving  for 
something  home-like.  You  can't  understand, 
perhaps " 

"Perhaps  I  can,"  said  Frank,  smiling.  "I 
can't  say  that  I've  been  in  Boston  society,  but 
I've  been  on  the  outskirts." 

"Frank,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  don't  ever  worry 
about  me,  do  you?  Truly,  the  more  I  see  of 
other  people,  the  more  I  love  you.  And  all  I 
want  is  to  be  alone  with  you.  I'm  tired  of  the 
game.  Everybody  expects  me  to  be  pert  and 
saucy;  and  I  can  be  it,  you  know " 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  173 

She  stopped,  and  he  smiled.      "Yes,  I  know." 

"But  since  I've  met  you,  I  get  sorry,  sometimes 
even  ashamed.  You  see  what  you've  done  to 
me!" 

"What  in  the  world  have  you  been  doing?" 
he  asked. 

"Oh,  some  day  I'll  tell  you — don't  ask  me  now, 
It's  just  that  I'm  tired  of  society — I  wasn't  cut 
out  for  the  life." 

"Why,  it  was  only  a  few  days  ago  that  you 
were  talking  about  bringing  me  out!" 

"I  know,  Frank.  I  try  to  play  the  game,  but 
deep  down  in  my  soul  I  hate  it.  I'm  successful 
now,  but  it's  the  truth  that  in  the  beginning 
I  never  took  a  step  that  I  wasn't  driven.  When 
I  went  into  a  ball-room,  my  teeth  would  chatter 
with  fright,  and  I'd  want  to  hide  in  a  corner. 
Aunt  Nannie  would  get  hold  of  me,  and  take  me 
into  the  dressing-room,  and  scold  me  and  stir 
me  up.  I  can  hear  her  now.  'You!  Sylvia 
Castleman,  my  niece,  a  wall-flower!  Have  you 
forgotten  who  you  are?'  So  then,  of  course,  I'd 
have  to  think  of  my  ancestors  and  be  worthy  of 
them.  She'd  pinch  my  cheeks  until  they  were 
red,  and  wipe  the  wet  corners  of  my  eyes,  and 
put  a  fresh  dab  of  powder  on  my  nose,  and  stick 
in  a  strand  of  hah-,  and  twist  a  curl,  and  shift 
a  bow  of  ribbon  to  the  other  shoulder — and  then 
out  I'd  go  to  be  stared  at." 

"You've  got  the  job  pretty  well  in  hand  by 
now,"  smiled  Frank. 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  I  don't  really  like  it — not 


174  SYLVIA 

with  my  real  self.  I'm  always  thinking  what 
fun  it  would  be  to  be  natural!  I  wonder  what 
I'd  turn  into!  And  whether  you'd  like  me!" 

"I'd  take  my  chances." 

"Would  you  really,  Frank?  Just  suppose  I 
stopped  dressing,  for  instance?  Suppose  I  never 
wore  high  heels  and  stiff  collars?  Suppose  I  dis 
pensed  with  my  modiste,  and  you  discovered  that 
I  had  no  figure." 

"I'd  take  my  chances,"  he  laughed  again. 

"You  look  at  me,  and  you  like  what  you  see. 
But  you've  no  idea  what  a  work  of  art  I  am,  nor 
how  much  I  cost — thousands  and  thousands  of 
dollars!  And  so  many  people  to  watch  me  and 
scold  me — so  much  work  to  be  done  on  me,  day 
after  day!  Suppose  my  hair  wasn't  curled,  for 
instance!  Or  suppose  my  nose  were  shiny!" 

"I  don't  mind  shiny  so  much,  Sylvia " 

"Ah!  But  if  it  was  red!  That's  what  they're 
always  hammering  into  me — whenever  I  forget 
my  veil.  Or  look  at  these  lovely  soft  hands  of 
mine — such  beautiful  nails.  Do  you  realize  that 
I  have  to  keep  them  in  glycerine  gloves  all  night 
— and  ugh!  how  clammy  and  nasty  they  are  when 
it's  cold!  And  the  time  it  takes  to  keep  the  nails 
polished!" 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "you 
don't  take  my  wickedness  seriously.  But  you 
should  ask  Harriet  Atkinson  about  some  of  the 
things  we've  done.  She'll  come  and  say,  '  There's 
a  new  man  coming  to-night.  Teach  me  a  "  spiel " !' 
She'll  tell  me  all  about  him,  where  he  comes  from 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  175 

and  what  he  likes,  and  I'll  tell  her  what  to  say 
and  what  to  pretend  to  be.  And  I've  done  it 
myself — hundreds  of  times." 

"Did  you_  do  it  for  me?"  asked  Frank, 
innocently. 

Sylvia  paused.  "I  tried  to,"  she  said.  "Some 
times  I  did,  but  then  again  I  couldn't."  She 
put  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  he  felt  a  pressure, 
thrilling  him  with  a  swift  delight. 

But  they  had  come  now  to  the  dormitory,  so 
her  outburst  had  to  end.  She  took  her  hand  from 
his  arm,  saying,  "Frank,  I  don't  want  you  to  kiss 
me  any  more  until  we're  married.  I'm  going  to 
stop  doing  everything  that  makes  me  ashamed!" 


§7 

BEHOLD  now  a  new  "Lady  Sunshine,"  in  a  clean 
white  apron  which  her  hosts  had  provided  for 
the  occasion,  stirring  mushrooms  in  cream  and 
superintending  stewed  chicken,  while  Frank 
washed  salad  in  the  bathroom,  and  Jack  Colton 
was  half  way  up  to  his  elbows  in  mayonnaise. 
This  was  the  first  time  that  Sylvia  had  met 
Frank's  roor^-mate,  with  whom  she  had  intended 
to  be  very*  stern,  because  of  his  "wildness." 
Although  she  was  used  to  wild  boys,  and  had 
helped  to  tame  a  number  of  them,  she  did  not 
approve  of  such  qualities  in  a  companion  of  her 
lover. 


176  SYLVIA 

Jack,  however,  was  a  boy  with  what  the  Irish 
call  "a  way  with  him."  He  had  curly  brown  hair 
and  a  winning  countenance,  and  such  a  laugh 
that  it  was  not  easy  to  disagree  with  him.  More 
over  a  halo  of  romance  hung  about  him,  owing  to 
the  fact  that  Frank  had  first  met  him  after  a 
railroad  wreck,  sitting  in  the  snow  and  holding 
in  his  lap  a  baby  whose  mother  had  been  killed. 
Jack  had  engaged  a  nurse  and  sent  the  child  all 
the  way  out  to  his  own  mother  in  Wyoming; 
and  how  could  any  girl  object  to  a  friendship 
begun  under  such  auspices?  If  his  mother  was 
indulgent  and  sent  him  more  pocket  money  than 
he  could  decently  spend,  might  not  one  regard 
that  as  the  boy's  misfortune  rather  than  his 
fault? 

There  was  Dennis  Dulanty,  a  fair-haired  young 
Irishman  who  wrote  poems,  and  was  Sylvia's 
slave  from  the  first  moment  she  entered  the 
room.  There  was  Tom  Firmin,  a  heavily  built 
man  with  a  huge  head  made  bigger  by  thick, 
black  hair.  Firmin  was  working  his  way  through 
college  and  had  no  time  for  luncheon  parties,  but 
he  had  come  this  once  to  meet  Sylvia.  The  girl 
listened  to  him  with  some  awe,  because  Frank 
had  said  he  had  the  best  mind  in  the  class. 
Finally  there  was  Jack's  married  sister,  who 
lived  in  Boston,  and  was  chaperone. 

There  were  four  little  tables  with  four  chafing 
dishes,  and  two  study  tables  put  together  and 
covered  with  a  spread  of  linen  and  silver.  There 
were  strawberries  which  Dulanty  had  dropped 
upon  the  floor;  there  were  sandwiches  which 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  177 

Tom  Firmin  had  tried  in  vain  to  cut  thin,  and 
wine  about  which  Jack  Colton  talked  far  too 
wisely,  for  one  so  young.  Jack  had  been  round 
the  world,  and  had  tasted  the  vintage  of  many 
countries,  and  told  such  interesting  adventures 
that  one  forgot  one's  disapproval. 

Sylvia  found  herself  happy  here,  and  decided 
that  Frank's  crowd  was  far  more  interesting  than 
Thurlow's.  All  these  men  were  outsiders,  holding 
themselves  aloof  from  the  social  life  of  the  Uni 
versity  and  resentful -of  the  conditions  they  had 
found  there.  After  awhile  it  occurred  to  Sylvia 
that  it  would  be  entertaining  to  hear  what  these 
men  would  have  to  say  upon  a  subject  which  had 
been  occupying  her  mind;  so,  by  a  few  deft 
touches,  she  brought  the  conversation  to  a  point 
where  some  one  else  was  moved  to  mention  the 
name  of  Douglas  van  Tuiver. 

Immediately  she  discovered  that  she  had 
touched  a  live  wire.  There  was  Tom  Firmin, 
frowning  under  his  thick  black  eyebrows.  "For 
my  part,  I  have  just  one  thing  to  say:  a  man  who 
has  any  pretense  at  self-respect  cannot  even  know 
him." 

"Is  he  as  bad  as  all  that?"  Sylvia  asked. 

"It's  not  a  question  of  personality — it's  a 
question  of  the  amount  of  his  wealth." 

Sylvia  would  have  appreciated  this  if  it  had 
been  a  jest.  But  apparently  the  speaker  was 
serious,  and  so  she  gazed  at  him  in  perplexity. 
"Is  a  very  rich  man  to  have  no  friends?"  she 
asked, 

12 


178  SYLVIA 

"Never  fear,"  laughed  Jack,  "there  are  plenty 
of  tuft-hunters  who  will  keep  him  company." 

"But  why  should  you  sentence  him  to  the 
company  of  tuft-hunters,  just  because  he  happens 
to  be  born  with  a  lot  of  money?" 

"It  isn't  I  that  sentence  him,"  said  Firmin — 
"it's  the  nature  of  things." 

"But,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "I've  had  million 
aires  for  friends — and  I  hope  I'm  not  the  dreadful 
thing  you  say." 

The  other  smiled  for  the  first  time.  "Frank 
Shirley  insists  that  there  are  angels  upon  earth," 
he  said.  "But  if  you  don't  mind,  Miss  Castle- 
man,  I'd  prefer  to  illustrate  this  argument  by 
every-day  mortals  like  myself.  I'm  willing  to 
admit,  as  a  theoretical  proposition,  that  there 
might  be  a  disinterested  friendship  between  a 
poor  man  and  a  multimillionaire;  but  only  if 
the  poor  man  is  a  Diogenes  and  stays  in  his  tub. 
I  mean,  if  he  has  no  business  affairs  of  any  sort, 
and  takes  no  part  in  social  life;  if  he  never  lets 
the  multimillionaire  take  him  automobiling  or 
invite  him  to  dinner;  if  he  has  no  marriageable 
sisters,  and  the  multimillionaire  has  none  either. 
But  all  these,  you  must  admit,  make  a  difficult 
collection  of  circumstances." 

"Miss  Castleman,"  said  Jack,  "you  can  see 
why  we  call  Tom  Firmin  our  Anarchist." 

But  Sylvia  was  not  to  be  diverted.  She  had 
never  heard  such  ideas  as  this,  and  she  wanted 
to  understand  them.  "You  must  think  hardly 
of  human  nature!"  she  objected. 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  179 

"As  I  said  before,  it  has  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  personality,  it's  the  automatic  effect  of 
a  huge  sum  of  money.  Take  my  own  case,  for 
example — so  I  can  talk  brutally  and  not  hurt 
anyone.  I  want  to  be  a  lawyer,  but  meanwhile 
I  have  to  earn  my  living.  I  love  a  girl,  but  I've 
no  hope  of  marrying,  because  I'm  poor  and  she's 
poor.  If  I  struggle  along  in  the  usual  way,  it'll 
be  five  years — maybe  ten  years — before  we  can 
marry.  But  here  I  am  in  college,  and  here's 
Douglas  van  Tuiver;  if  by  any  device  of  any 
sort  I  can  manage  to  penetrate  his  consciousness 
— if  I  can  make  him  think  me  a  wit  or  a  scholar, 
a  boon  companion  or  a  great  soul,  the  best  half 
back  in  college  or  an  amusing  old  bull  in  the 
social  china  shop — why,  then  right  away  things 
are  easier  for  me.  You've  heard  what  Thackeray 
said  about  walking  down  Piccadilly  with  a  duke 
on  each  arm?  If  I  can  walk  across  the  Yard 
with  Douglas  van  Tuiver,  then  a  lot  of  important 
men  suddenly  realize  that  I  exist;  the  first  thing 
you  know  I  make  a  club,  and  so  when  I  come  out 
of  college  I'm  the  chum  of  some  of  the  men  who 
are  running  the  country,  and  I  have  a  salary  of 
five  thousand  a  year  at  the  start,  and  ten  thousand 
in  a  year  or  two,  a  hundred  thousand  before  I'm 
forty,  and  a  go  at  a  rich  marriage  into  the  bargain. 
Do  you  think  there  are  many  would-be  lawyers 
to  whom  all  that  would  be  no  temptation?  Let 
me  tell  you,  it's  the  temptation  which  has  turned 
many  a  man  in  this  college  into  a  boot-licker!" 

"But,  Mr.  Firmin!"  cried  Sylvia,  in  dismay. 


180  SYLVIA 

"What  is  your  idea?  Would  you  forbid  rich  men 
coming  to  college?" 

To  which  the  other  replied,  "I'd  go  much  farther 
back  than  that,  Miss  Castleman — I'd  forbid  rich 
men  existing." 

Sylvia  was  genuinely  shocked.  She  had  never 
heard  such  words  even  in  jest,  and  she  thought 
Tom  Firmin  a  terrifying  person.  "You  see," 
laughed  Jack,  "he  really  is  an  Anarchist!"  And 
Sylvia  believed  him,  and  resolved  to  remonstrate 
with  Frank  about  having  such  friends.  But 
nevertheless  she  went  out  from  that  breakfast 
party  with  something  new  to  think  about  in 
connection  with  Douglas  van  Tuiver — and  with 
her  mind  made  up  that  Mr.  "Tubby"  Bates  would 
have  to  die  of  starvation! 


§8 

THAT  afternoon  Sylvia  was  invited  to  one  of 
the  club  teas.  These  were  very  exclusive  affairs, 
and  Jackson,  who  asked  her,  mentioned  that 
among  those  who  poured  tea  would  be  Mrs. 
Isabel  Winthrop;  also  that  Mrs.  Winthrop  had 
expressed  a  particular  desire  to  meet  her. 

This  would  mark  a  new  stage  in  Sylvia's  cam 
paign  for  her  cousin;  but  quite  apart  from  that, 
she  was  curious  to  meet  this  belle  ideal  of  Auburn 
Street.  Sylvia  had  listened  attentively  to  what 
the  denizens  of  the  "Gold  Coast"  had  to  say  about 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  181 

"  Queen  Isabella,"  and  had  found  herself  rather 
awe-stricken.  When  one  spoke  of  a  favorite 
hostess  in  the  South,  one  gave  her  credit  for 
tact,  for  charm,  perhaps  even  for  brilliance.  But 
apparently  Mrs.  Winthrop  was  the  possessor  of 
a  much  more  difficult  and  perplexing  attribute — 
a  rare  and  lofty  soul.  She  was  a  woman  of  real 
intellect,  they  said — she  had  written  a  book  upon 
theories  of  aesthetics,  and  had  taken  a  degree  in 
philosophy  at  the  older  Cambridge  across  the 
seas.  Such  things  were  quite  unknown  in  South 
ern  society,  where  a  girl  was  rather  taught  to  hide 
her  superfluous  education,  for  fear  of  scaring  the 
men  away. 

So  Sylvia  found  herself  in  a  state  of  consider 
able  apprehension.  If  it  had  been  a  man,  she 
would  have  taken  her  chances;  when  she  had 
attended  Commencement  at  her  State  University, 
there  were  professors  who  would  call  and  talk 
about  Assyrian  bricks,  and  the  relation  between 
ions  and  corpuscles — yet  by  listening  closely,  and 
putting  in  a  deft  touch  now  and  then  to  make 
them  talk  about  themselves,  Sylvia  had  managed 
to  impress  them  as  an  intellectual  young  lady. 
But  now  she  had  to  deal  with  that  natural  enemy 
of  a  woman — another  woman.  How  was  the 
ordeal  to  be  faced? 

'  Lady  Dee  had  handed  down  the  formula: 
"When  in  difficulty,  look  the  person  in  the  eyes, 
and  remember  who  you  are."  This  was  the 
counsel  which  came  to  Sylvia's  rescue  at  the 
moment  of  the  dread  encounter.  She  knew  Mrs. 


182  SYLVIA 

Winthrop  as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  her; 
she  looked  a  woman  of  thirty-five — instead  of 
forty-five,  which  she  really  was — tall  and 
slender,  undoubtedly  beautiful,  undoubtedly 
proud,  and  yet  with  a  kind  of  naive  sincerity. 
They  met  in  the  dressing-room  by  accident,  and 
the  lady,  recognizing  Sylvia,  took  her  hand  and 
gazed  into  her  face;  and  Sylvia  gazed  back,  with 
those  wide,  clear  eyes  of  hers,  steadily,  unflinch 
ing,  without  a  motion  or  a  sound.  At  last  Mrs. 
Winthrop,  putting  her  other  hand  upon  the  girl's, 
clasped  it  and  whispered  intensely,  "We  met  a 
thousand  years  ago!" 

Sylvia  had  no  information  as  to  any  such 
event,  and  she  had  not  expected  at  all  that  kind 
of  welcome.  So  she  continued  to  gaze — steadily, 
steadily.  And  the  spell  communicated  itself  to 
Mrs.  Winthrop.  "I  heard  that  you  were  lovely," 
she  murmured,  hi  a  strange,  low  voice,  "but  I 
really  had  no  idea!  Sylvia  Castleman,  you  are 
like  a  snow-storm  of  pear  blossoms!  You  are  a 
Corot  symphony  of  spring  time!" 

Now  Sylvia  had  seen  some  of  Corot's  paintings, 
but  she  had  not  learned  to  mix  the  metaphors  of 
the  arts,  and  so  she  had  no  idea  what  Mrs.  Win 
throp  meant.  She  contented  herself  with  saying 
something  about  the  pleasure  she  felt  at  this 
meeting. 

But  the  other  was  not  to  be  brought  down  to 
mundane  speech.  "Dryad!"  she  murmured. 
She  had  a  manner  and  voice  all  her  own,  sybil- 
line,  oracular;  you  felt  that  she  'was  speaking, 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  183 

not  to  you,  but  to  some  disembodied  spirit.     It 
was  very  disconcerting  at  first. 

"You  bring  back  lost  youth  to  the  world,"  she 
said.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Sylvia — to  find 
out  more  about  you.  You  aren't  vain,  I  know. 
You  are  proud!" 

"Why — I'm  not  sure,"  said  Sylvia,  at  a  loss 
for  a  moment. 

"Oh,  don't  be  vain!"  said  the  lady.  "Remem 
ber — I  was  like  you  once." 

Which  gave  Sylvia  an  opportunity  of  the  sort 
she  understood.  "I  will  look  forward,"  she 
said,  "to  the  prospect  of  being  like  you." 

The  radiant  lady  pressed  her  hand.  "Very 
pretty,  my  child,"  she  said.  "Quite  Southern, 
too!  But  I  must  take  you  in  and  give  the  others 
some  of  this  joy." 

Such  was  the  beginning  of  the  acquaintance 
so  utterly  different  from  all  possible  beginnings, 
as  Sylvia  had  imagined  them.  She  found  in  Edith 
Winthrop,  whom  she  met  a  few  minutes  later,  a 
person  much  nearer  to  what  she  had  expected  in 
the  mother.  Miss  Edith  had  her  mother's  beauty 
and  her  mother's  pride,  but  no  trace  of  her 
mother's  sybilline  qualities.  A  badly  spoiled 
young  lady,  was  Sylvia's  first  verdict  upon  this 
New  England  belle;  a  verdict  which  she  delivered 
promptly  to  her  infatuated  cousin,  and  which 
she  never  found  occasion  to  revise. 

The  friendship  thus  begun  progressed  rapidly. 
Mrs.  Winthrop  asked  if  she  might  call,  and  com 
ing  the  next  day,  discovered  in  Aunt  Varina  the 


184  SYLVIA 

perfect  type  of  the  Southern  gentlewoman.  So 
the  three  were  soon  absorbed  in  talking  genealogy. 
At  Miss  Abercrombie's  Sylvia  had  been  surprised 
to  learn  that  it  was  bad  form  to  talk  about  one's 
ancestors;  but  apparently  it  was  still  permissible 
in  Boston — as  it  assuredly  was  in  the  South. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  invited  Sylvia  to  a  party  she 
was  giving;  and  when  Sylvia  spoke  of  having  to 
leave  Boston,  "Oh,  stay,"  said  the  great  lady. 
"Come  and  stay  with  me — always!"  Finally 
Sylvia  said  that  she  would  come  to  the  party. 

"I'll  invite  your  cousin  for  the  extra  man," 
said  the  other.  "It  is  to  be  a  new  kind  of  party 
— you  know  how  desperately  one  has  to  struggle 
to  keep  one's  guests  from  being  bored.  I  got 
this  idea  from  a  Southern  man,  so  perhaps  it's 
an  old  story  to  you — a  'Progressive  Love'  party?" 

"Oh,  yes,  we  often  have  them,"  replied  Sylvia. 
She  had  not  supposed  that  these  intellectual 
people  would  condescend  to  such  play — having 
pictured  Boston  society  as  occupied  in  translating 
Meredith  and  Henry  James. 

"People  have  to  be  amused  the  world  over," 
said  Mrs.  Winthrop.  And  when  Sylvia  looked 
surprised  to  have  her  thought  read,  the  other 
gave  her  a  long  look,  and  smiled  a  deep  smile. 
"Sylvia,"  she  propounded,  "you  and  I  under 
stand  each  other.  We  are  made  of  exactly  the 
same  material." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  185 

§9 

THERE  followed  after  this  meeting  a  trying  time 
for  the  girl.  She  went  to  a  theatre  in  the  evening, 
and  when  she  came  back  to  the  hotel  she  found 
her  aunt  suffering  acutely,  with  symptoms  of 
appendicitis.  Although  there  was  a  doctor  and 
a  nurse,  she  spent  the  entire  night  and  half  the 
next  day  by  her  aunt's  bedside.  Sylvia's  love 
for  her  family  appeared  at  a  time  like  this  a  sort 
of  frenzy;  she  would  have  died  a  thousand  deaths 
to  save  them  from  suffering,  and  there  was  no 
getting  her  to  spare  herself  hi  any  way. 

Her  sympathy  for  Aunt  Varina  was  the  greater, 
because  this  poor  little  lady  was  so  patient  and 
unselfish.  Whenever  there  was  anything  the 
matter  with  her,  she  would  make  no  trouble  for 
anyone,  but  crawl  away  and  endure  by  herself. 
She  was  one  of  those  devoted  souls,  of  which 
there  is  one  to  be  found  in  every  big  family, 
who  do  not  have  a  life  of  their  own,  but  are 
ground  up  daily,  as  it  were,  to  make  oil  to  keep 
the  great  machine  running  smoothly.  Sylvia, 
who  had  in  herself  the  making  of  such  a  family 
lubricant,  was  irresistibly  drawn  to  this  gentle 
soul  in  distress. 

All  night  she  helped  the  nurse  with  hot 
"stoupes;"  and  even  when  the  danger  was  passed 
she  could  not  be  persuaded  to  rest,  but  sat  by 
the  bedside,  applying  various  kinds  of  smelling 
salts  and  lavender  water,  trying  to  be  so  cheerful 
that  the  patient  would  forget  her  pain.  She 


186  SYLVIA 

smoothed  the  white  forehead,  noticing  as  she 
did  so  how  thin  the  gray  hairs  were  getting. 
She  could  look  back  to  childhood  days,  when 
Aunt  Varina  had  been  bright  and  young-looking 
—there  were  even  pictures  of  her  as  a  girlish 
beauty;  but  now  her  neck  was  scrawny  and  her 
cheeks  were  wan,  and  most  of  her  hair  lay  upon 
her  dressing-table. 

The  day  passed,  and  then  Sylvia  was  reminded 
that  she  had  promised  to  go  to  a  college  enter 
tainment  with  Harley.  She  ought  to  have  gone 
to  bed,  but  she  did  not  like  to  disappoint  her 
cousin,  so  she  drank  a  cup  or  two  of  strong  coffee, 
and  was  ready  for  anything  that  might  come 
along. 

I  used  to  say  that  I  never  knew  a  person  who 
could  disappear  so  rapidly  as  Sylvia;  who  could 
literally  eat  up  the  flesh  off  her  bones  by  nervous 
excitement.  After  a  night  and  a  day  like  this 
she  was  another  woman — that  strange  arresting 
creature  who  made  men  start  when  they  saw  her, 
and  set  poets  to  dreaming  about  angels  and  stars. 
She  wore  a  soft  white  muslin  dress  and  a  hat 
with  -a  white  plume  in  it — not  intending  to  be 
ethereal,  but  because  an  instinct  always  guided 
her  hand  towards  the  color  that  was  right. 

The  entertainment  being  not  very  interesting, 
and  the  hall  being  close,  after  ah  hour  or  so  she 
asked  her  cousin  to  take  her  out.  It  was  a  per 
fect  night,  and  she  drank  in  the  soft  breeze  and 
strolled  along,  happy  to  watch  the  lights  through 
the  trees  and  to  hear  singing  in  the  distance. 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  187 

But  suddenly  she  discovered  that  she  had  lost 
a  medallion  which  she  had  worn  about  her  neck. 
"We  must  find  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "It's  the  one 
with  the  picture  of  Aunt  Lady!" 

"Are  you  sure  you  had  it?" 

"I  remember  perfectly  having  it  in  the  hall. 
We'll  find  it  if  we're  quick.  Hurry!  I  can't, 
with  these  heels  on  my  shoes."  So  Harley  started 
back,  and  Sylvia  began  to  walk  slowly,  looking 
on  the  sidewalk. 

Five  or  ten  minutes  passed  thus;  when,  hearing 
steps  behind  her,  she  glanced  up,  and  saw  a  man 
attired  in  evening  dress.  There  was  a  light  near 
by,  shining  into  her  face,  and  she  saw  that  he 
looked  at  her;  also,  with  her  woman's  intuition, 
she  realized  that  he  had  been  startled. 

He  stopped.  "Have  you  lost  something?"  he 
asked,  hesitatingly. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Could  I  be  of  any  help?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Sylvia.  "My  cousin  has 
gone  back  to  look.  He  will  be  here  soon." 

That  was  all.  Sylvia  resumed  her  search. 
But  the  man's  way  was  the  same  as  hers,  and 
he  did  not  go  as  fast  as  before.  She  was  really 
worried  about  her  loss,  and  barely  thought  of 
him.  His  voice  was  that  of  a  gentleman,  so  his 
nearness  did  not  disturb  her. 

"Was  it  something  valuable?"  he  asked,  at 
last. 

"It  was  a  medallion  with  a  picture  that  I 
prize." 


188  SYLVIA 

She  stopped  at.  a  corner,  uncertain  of  the  street 
by  which  she  and  Harley  had  come.  He  stopped 
also.  "I  would  be  very  glad  to  help,"  he  said, 
"if  you  would  permit  me." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  "but  I  really  think 
that  my  cousin  will  find  it.  We  had  not  come 
far." 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  As  she  went  on, 
he  was  near  her,  looking  diligently.  After  a 
while  she  began  to  find  the  silence  awkward,  but 
she  did  not  like  to  send  him  away,  and  she  did 
not  like  to  speak  again.  So  it  was  with  real 
relief  that,  looking  down  the  street,  she  saw 
Harley  coming.  "There's  my  cousin!"  she  said. 
"Oh,  I  do  hope  he's  found  it." 

"He  doesn't  act  as  if  he  had,"  remarked  the 
other;  and  Sylvia's  heart  sank,  for  she  saw  that 
Harley  walked  slowly,  and  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground. 

When  he  was  near  enough  she  asked,  "You 
haven't  found  it?" 

"No,"  he  answered.     "It's  gone,  I  fear." 

"Oh,  too  bad!  too  bad!     What  can  we  do?" 

Harley  had  come  near.  Sylvia  saw  that  he 
looked  at  the  man  she  was  with,  but  there  was 
no  recognition  between  them.  Evidently  they 
did  not  know  each  other.  Then,  without  offering 
to  stop,  Harley  passed  them,  saying.  "I'll  look 
back  this  way." 

"I  don't  think  that's  worth  while,"  said  the 
girl.  "I've  searched  carefully  there." 

"I'd  better  look,"  replied  the  other,  who  had 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  189 

quickened  his  pace  and  was  already  some  dis 
tance  off. 

"But  wait,  Harley!"  she  called.  She  wanted 
to  explain  to  him  how  thoroughly  she  had  searched ; 
and,  more  important  yet,  she  wanted  to  get 
decently  rid  of  the  stranger. 

But  Harley  went  on,  paying  no  attention  to 
her.  She  called  him  again,  with  some  annoyance, 
but  he  did  not  stop,  and  in  a  moment  more  had 
turned  a  corner.  She  was  perplexed  and  angered 
by  his  conduct — more  and  more  so  as  she  thought 
of  it.  How  preposterous  for  him  to  brush  past 
in  that  fashion,  and  leave  her  with  a  man  she 
did  not  know!  "What  in  the  world  can  he 
mean?"  she  exclaimed.  "There's  no  need  to 
search  back  there  any  more!" 

She  stood,  staring  into  the  half-darkness. 
When  after  a  moment  he  did  not  reappear,  she 
repeated,  helplessly,  "What  did  he  mean? 
What  did  he  mean?" 

She  looked  at  her  companion,  and  saw  an  amused 
smile  upon  his  face.  Her  eyes  questioned  him, 
and  he  said,  "I  suspect  he  saw  you  were  with 
me:' 

For  a  moment  Sylvia  continued  to  stare  at 
him.  Then,  realizing  that  here  was  a  serious 
matter,  she  looked  down  at  the  ground — some 
thing  which  the  search  for  the  medallion  gave 
her  the  pretext  for  doing. 

"He  saw  you  were  with  me"  The  more  she 
pondered  the  words,  the  more  incredible  they 
seemed  to  her.  Taken  as  they  had  come,  with 


190  SYLVIA 

the  tone  and  the  accent  and  the  smile,  there  was 
only  one  thing  they  could  mean.  A  week  ago 
Sylvia  would  have  been  incapable  of  compre 
hending  that  meaning;  but  now  she  had  seen  so 
much  of  social  climbing  that  she  had  developed 
a  new  sensitiveness.  She  understood — and  yet  she 
could  not  believe  that  she  understood.  This  man 
did  not  know  Harley,  but  Harley  knew  him,  and 
knew  him  to  be  somebody  of  importance — of  such 
importance  that  he  had  deliberately  gone  on  and 
left  her  standing  there,  so  that  she  might  pick 
up  an  acquaintance  with  him  on  the  street!  And 
the  man  had  watched  the  little  comedy,  and 
knowing  his  own  importance,  was  chuckling  with 
amusement. 

As  the  realization  of  this  forced  itself  upon 
Sylvia,  the  blood  mounted  to  the  very  roots  of 
her  hair.  She  was  seized  by  a  perfect  fury  of 
shame  and  indignation;  it  was  all  that  she  could 
do  to  keep  from  turning  upon  the  man  and  tell 
ing  him  what  a  cad  and  a  puppy  she  thought  him. 
But  then  came  a  second  thought — wasn't  it  true, 
what  he  believed?  What  other  explanation  could 
there  be  of  Harley's  conduct?  It  was  her  cousin 
who  was  the  puppy  and  the  cad;  she  wanted  to 
run  after  him  and  tell  him  in  the  man's  hearing. 
But  then  again  her  anger  turned  upon  the 
stranger.  If  he  had  been  a  gentleman,  would 
he  ever  have  let  her  know,  what  he  thought? 
Would  he  have  stood  there  now,  grinning  like  a 
pot-boy? 

Sylvia  finished  her  meditations,  and  lifted  her 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  191 

eyes  from  the  ground.  She  was  clear  as  to  what 
she  would  do — she  would  punish  this  man,  as 
never  in  her  life  had  she  punished  a  man  before. 
She  would  punish  him,  even  though  to  do  it  she 
had  to  walk  on  the  proprieties  with  the  sharp 
heels  of  her  white  suede  slippers. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  gently.  "I 
hope  I  don't  presume " 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  and  she  looked  him 
over.  He  was  a  tall  man,  with  a  pale,  lean  face, 
prominent  features,  and  a  large  mouth  which 
drooped  at  the  corners  with  heavy  lines.  He  was 
evidently  a  serious  person,  mature  looking  for  a 
student. 

"Are  you  by  any  chance  an  instructor  in  the 
University?"  she  asked. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  surprised. 

"But  then — are  you  a  public  official  of  some 
sort?" 

"No,"  he  said,  still  more  surprised.  "Why 
should  you  think  that?" 

"Well,  my  cousin  seemed  to  know  you,  and 
yet  not  to  know  you.  He  seemed  willing  to 
leave  me  with  you,  so  I  thought  you  might  be 
—possibly  a  city  detective ' 

She  saw  him  wince,  and  she  feigned  quick 
embarrassment.  "I  hope  you'll  excuse  me!"  she 
said.  "You  see,  my  position  is  difficult."  Then, 
with  one  of  her  shining  smiles,  "Or  have  I  per 
chance  met  Sir  Galahad — or  some  other  com 
forter  of  distressed  damsels — St.  George,  or  Don 
Quixote?" 


192  SYLVIA 

When  an  outrage  is  offered  to  you  by  one  of 
the  loveliest  beings  that  you  have  ever  beheld, 
with  the  face  of  a  higher  order  of  angels,  and  a 
look  straight  into  your  eyes,  so  eloquent  of 
simplicity  and  trustfulness — what  more  can  you 
do  than  to  look  uncomfortable? 

And  Sylvia,  of  course,  did  not  help  him.  She 
just  continued  to  gaze  and  smile.  He  got  his 
breath  and  stammered,  "Really — I  think — if  you 

will  permit  me "  He  paused,  and  then  drew 

himself  up.  "I  think  that  I  had  best  introduce 
myself." 

"I  am  willing  to  accept  the  rebuke,"  said 
Sylvia,  "without  putting  you  to  that  trouble." 

She  saw  that  he  did  not  even  understand.  He 
went  on — his  manner  that  of  a  man  laboring 
with  a  very  serious  purpose.  "I  really  think  that 
I  should  introduce  myself." 

"Are  we  not  having  a  pleasant  time  without 
it?"  she  countered. 

This,  of  course,  was  a  complete  blockade.  He 
stood  at  a  loss;  and  meantime  Sylvia  waited,  with 
every  weapon  ready  and  every  sense  alert.  "I 
beg  pardon,"  he  said,  at  last,  "but  may  I  ask 
you  something?  I've  a  feeling  as  if  I  had  met 
you  before." 

"I  am  sure  that  you  have  not,"  she  said, 
promptly. 

"You  are  from  the  South,  are  you  not?  I 
have  been  in  the  South  several  times." 

But  still  she  would  not  give  an  inch;  and 
he  became  desperate.  "Pardon  me,"  he  said, 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  193 

"if  I  tell  you  my  name.  I  am  Douglas  van 
Tuiver." 

Now  if  there  was  ever  a  moment  in  her  life 
when  Sylvia  needed  her  social  training,  it  was 
then.  He  was  looking  into  her  face,  watching  for 
the  effect  of  his  announcement.  But  he  never  saw 
so  much  as  the  flicker  of  an  eyelid.  Sylvia  said, 
quietly,  "  Thank  you/'  and  waited  to  load  her 
batteries.  She  had  meant  harm  to  him  before. 
Imagine  what  she  meant  now! 

"It  is  an  unusual  name,"  she  observed,  casually. 
"German,  I  presume?" 

"Dutch,"  said  he. 

"Ah,  Dutch.  But  then — you  speak  English 
perfectly." 

"My  ancestors,"  he  said,  "came  to  this  country 
in  sixteen  hundred  and  forty." 

"  Ah !"  exclaimed  Sylvia.  ' '  How  curious !  Mine 
came  the  same  year.  Perhaps  that  was  where 
we  met — in  a  previous  incarnation."  Then, 
after  a  pause,  "Van  Tuivel,  did  you  say?" 

She  could  feel  his  start,  and  she  waited  breath 
lessly  to  see  what  he  would  do.  But  there  were 
the  soft,  red-brown  eyes  and  the  look  of  utter 
innocence — how  could  he  gaze  into  them  and 
doubt?  ' '  Van  Tuiver, ' '  he  said,  gravely.  ' '  Doug 
las  van  Tuiver." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Sylvia  responded. 
"Van  Tuiver.  I  have  it  now." 

She  waited,  feeling  sure  that  he  could  not  bear 
to  leave  it  there.  And  so  it  proved.  "The  name 
is  well  known  in  New  York,"  he  remarked. 

13 


194  SYLVIA 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "but  then — there  are  so  many 
people  in  New  York!" 

Again  there  was  a  pause,  while  he  took  thought. 
Sylvia  remarked,  helpfully,  "In  the  South,  you 
see,  everybody  knows  everybody  else." 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure,"  said  he,  stiffly,  "that 
I  should  find  that  a  desirable  state  of  affairs." 

"Neither  should  I,"  said  she— "in  New  York." 

Now  perhaps  you  think  that  this  kind  of  thing 
is  no  particular  strain  upon  the  nerves  of  a  young 
girl;  but  Sylvia  was  seeking  a  way  of  escape. 
Where  was  the  villain  Harley,  and  how^much 
longer  did  he  mean  to  keep  her  on  the  rack? 
At  this  moment  she  saw  a  taxicab  coming  down 
the  street,  and  she  recognized  her  chance. 

"Please  call  it!"  she  exclaimed. 

Instinctively  her  companion  raised  his  hand. 
Equally  instinctive  was  his  exclamation:  "Are 
you  going?" 

Her  answer  was  her  action;  as  the  vehicle 
drew  up  by  the  curb,  she  opened  the  door  herself, 
and  stepped  in.  "To  Boston,"  she  said;  and 
the  cab  moved  on.  "Good-bye,  Mr.  van  Tuiver," 
she  called  to  her  surprised  companion.  "Good 
bye,  until  the  next  incarnation!" 


§  10 

NEWS  spread  rapidly  in  Cambridge,  Sylvia 
found.  The  next  afternoon  she  received  a  call 
from  Mr.  "Tubby"  Bates,  and  one  glimpse  of 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  195 

his  features  told  her  that  he  was  moved  by  some 
compelling  impulse. 

"May  I  sit  down,  Miss  Castleman?"  he  asked. 
"I've  something  to  ask  you  about.  But  I'm  not 
sure,  Miss  Castleman — that  is — whether  I've  a 
right  to  talk  about  it.  You  may  think  that  I'm 
gossiping " 

"Oh,  but  I  adore  gossiping,"  put  in  the  girl; 
whereat  the  other  stopped  stammering  and  beamed 
with  relief.  He  was  more  like  a  Southern  man 
than  anyone  Sylvia  had  met  here;  she  knew  just 
how  to  deal  with  him. 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much!"  he  exclaimed. 
"It's  really  very  good  of  you."  He  drew  his 
chair  an  inch  or  two  nearer,  and  in  a  confidential 
voice  began,  "It's  about  Douglas  van  Tuiver." 

"Yes,  I  supposed  so,"  said  Sylvia,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  then  something  did  happen!" 

"Now,  Mr.  Bates,"  she  laughed,  "tell  your 
story." 

"This  noon,"  he  said,  "van  Tuiver  called  me 
on  the  'phone — or  at  least  his  secretary  did — and 
asked  me  if  I'd  lunch  at  the  club.  When  we  sat 
down,  there  were  two  other  chaps,  both  wonder 
ing  what  was  up.  Pretty  soon  he  got  to  a  sub 
ject — "  Bates  stopped  uneasily.  "I'm  afraid  that 
perhaps  I  won't  express  myself  in  the  right  way, 
Miss  Castleman — that  I  may  say  something  you 
don't  like " 

"Go  on/'  smiled  Sylvia.  "I'm  possessed  by 
curiosity. 

"Well,  it  came  out  that  he'd  had  an  adventure. 


196  SYLVIA 

He  was  walking  last  evening,  and  he  met  a  lady. 
She  was  tall  and  rather  pale,  he  said — a  Southern 
girl.  She  was  dressed  in  white  and  had  golden 
hair.  'Have  any  of  you  met  such  a  girl?'  he 
asked.  I  kept  silent  and  let  the  rest  do  the  answer 
ing.  They  hadn't.  'It  was  a  lady  in  distress,' 
van  Tuiver  went  on,  '  and  I  offered  my  assistance 
and  she  accepted' " 

"Oh,  I  did  not!"  cried  Sylvia. 

"Oho!"  exclaimed  Bates,  "I  knew  it!  Tell 
me,  what  did  you  do?" 

"This  is  your  story,"  she  laughed. 

"Well,  he  said  it  was  a  novel  r61e  for  him — 
that  of  Sir  Galahad,  or  St.  George,  or  Don  Quixote. 
He  found  it  embarrassing.  I  said,  'Was  it  the 
novelty  of  the  r61e — or  perhaps  the  novelty  of 
the  lady?'  'Well,'  said  van  Tuiver,  'that's  just 
it.  She  was  one  of  the  most  bewildering  people 
I  ever  met.  She  talked' — you  won't  mind  my 
telling  this,  Miss  Castleman?" 

"Not  a  bit— go  on." 

"Some  of  it  isn't  very  complimentary " 

"I'm  wild  with  suspense,  Mr.  Bates!" 

"  'Well,'  he  said,  'she  looked  like  a  lady,  but 
she  talked  like  an  actress  in  a  comedy.  I  never 
heard  anybody  rattle  so — I  never  knew  a  girl 
so  pert.  She  talked  just — amazingly.'  That 
was  his  word.  I  asked  him  just  what  he  meant, 
but  that  was  all  I  could  get  him  to  say.  Finally 
he  asked,  'Do  you  know  the  lady?'  and  of  course 
I  had  to  answer  that  I  thought  I  did;  I  could 
be  sure  if  he'd  give  me  a  sample  of  her  conversa- 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  197 

tion.  'She  has  a  cousin  named  Harley,'  he  said, 
and  I  said,  'Yes — he's  Chilton,  a  Freshman.  Her 
name  is  Miss  Castleman.'  Then  he  wanted  to 
know  all  about  you.  I  said,  'I  met  her  at  a  tea 
at  Thurlow's,  and  about  all  I  know  of  her  is  that 
she  talks  amazingly.'  I  thought  that  was  paying 
him  back." 

"And  then?"  laughed  Sylvia. 

"Well,  he  wanted  to  know  what  I  thought  of 
you;  and  I  said  I  thought  you  were  the  loveliest, 
and  the  cleverest,  and  the  sweetest  person  that 
I'd  ever  met  in  my  life.  I  really  think  that,  you 
know.  And  then  van  Tuiver  said — "  But  here 
Bates  stopped  himself  suddenly.  "That's  all," 
he  said. 

"No,  surely  not,  Mr.  Bates!" 

"But  really  it  is.  You  see,  we  were  inter 
rupted " 

"But  not  until  Mr.  van  Tuiver  had  said  that 
he  thought  I  was  horrid,  and  he  thought  I  was 
shallow,  and  he  thought  I  was  vain." 

The  other  flushed  slightly.  Sylvia  went  on, 
"I  don't  mind  it,  because  the  truth  is,  I'd  been 
thinking  it  myself.  You  see,  I  really  was  mean 
to  him,  Mr.  Bates.  I  said  things  to  hurt  him, 
without  his  knowing  I  meant  them;  but  after 
he  went  off,  he  must  have  understood.  Why 
should  we  want  to  hurt  people?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Tubby,  bewildered  by 
this  unexpected  new  turn.  He  wanted  Sylvia 
to  tell  him  the  story  of  what  had  happened  that 
evening;  but  she  refused.  Then  he  went  on  to 


198  SYLVIA 

a  new  proposition — he  wished  to  bring  van  Tuiver 
to  call.  But  she  refused  again  and  begged  him 
not  to  think  about  the  matter  any  further.  He 
pleaded  with  her,  in  semi-comic  distress;  he  was 
so  anxious  to  see  what  would  happen — everyone 
was  anxious  to  see  what  would  happen!  He 
implored  her,  hi  the  name  of  good  society;  it 
was  cruel,  wicked  of  her  to  refuse!  But  Sylvia 
was  obdurate,  and  in  the  end  he  took  his  departure 
lamenting,  but  vowing  that  he  would  not  give  up. 

Just  as  he  was  leaving,  Harley  arrived.  He 
came  to  get  his  scolding  for  his  conduct  of  the 
previous  night.  But  the  scolding  was  more 
serious  than  he  had  expected.  To  his  dismay 
Sylvia  declared  that  she  was  sincere  hi  her  refusal 
to  meet  van  Tuiver  again. 

"The  truth  is,"  she  said,  "I've  changed  my 
mind  about  the  whole  matter.  I  don't  care  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  man." 

"But  why  not?"  asked  Harley,  in  amazement. 

"Because — I  don't  think  that  poor  people  like 
us  have  any  right  to.  We  can't  meet  him  and 
keep  our  self-respect." 

"Great  God,  girl!  Aren't  we  van  Tuiver's 
social  equals." 

"We  think  we  are,  but  he  doesn't;  and  his  view 
prevails.  When  you  came  up  here  and  fell  in 
love  with  a  girl  in  his  set,  you  found  that  his 
view  prevailed.  And  look  what  you  did  last 
night!  Don't  you  see  the  degradation — simply 
to  be  near  such  a  man?" 

"That's  aU  very  well,"  objected  Harley,  "but 
can  I  keep  van  Tuiver  from  coming  to  Harvard?" 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  199 

"No,  you  can't;  but  you  can  help  to  keep  him 
from  having  his  way  after  he  has  got  here.  You 
can  stand  out  against  him  and  all  that  he  repre 
sents." 

There  was  a  pause.  Harley  had  nothing  to 
say  to  that.  Sylvia  stood  with  her  brows  knitted 
in  thought.  "I've  made  up  my  mind/'  she  said, 
"there's  something  very  wrong  about  it  all.  The 
man  has  too  much  money.  He  has  no  right  to 
have  so  much — certainly  not  unless  he's  earned 
it." 

Whereat  her  cousin  exclaimed,  "For  God's 
sake,  Sylvia,  you  talk  like  an  Anarchist!" 


§11 

A  COUPLE  of  days  later  came  Mrs.  Winthrop's 
"Progressive  Love"  party.  At  this  party  there 
were  twenty-four  guests,  twelve  men  and  twelve 
women,  appearing  in  purple  silk  dominoes  and 
golden  silk  masks  supplied  by  the  hostess.  Twelve 
short  dances  were  followed  by  intermissions, 
during  which  the  guests  retired  to  cosy  corners, 
and  the  men  made  ardent  love  to  their  unknown 
partners.  "Tubby"  Bates,  of  whom  there  was 
too  much  to  be  concealed  by  any  domino,  was 
appointed  door-keeper,  and  it  was  his  business 
to  select  the  couples,  so  that  each  would  have 
a  new  partner  for  every  dance.  At  the  end, 
every  person  voted  for  the  most  successful  "lover" 


200  SYLVIA 

and  also  the  worst,  and  there  were  prizes  and 
"booby"  prizes. 

Love-making,  more  or  less  disguised,  being  the 
principal  occupation  of  men  and  women  in  the 
South,  Sylvia  counted  herself  an  expert  at  this 
game.  She  had  learned  to  assume  a  different 
personality,  disguising  her  voice,  and  doing  it 
quite  naturally — not  by  the  crude  method  of 
putting  a  button  under  her  tongue.  She  took 
her  seat  after  the  first  dance,  perfectly  mistress 
of  herself  and  pleasantly  thrilled  with  curiosity. 
All  of  the  "younger  set"  at  home  had  made  love 
to  her  in  earnest,  and  their  methods  were  an  oft- 
told  tale.  But  how  would  these  strange  men  of 
Harvard  play  the  game? 

The  tall  domino  at  her  side  was  in  no  hurry 
to  begin.  He  sat  very  stiff  and  straight  upon  the 
velvet  cushions;  and  finally  it  came  to  Sylvia 
that  he  was  suffering  from  embarrassment.  She 
leaned  towards  him,  so  as  to  display  "a  more 
coming-on  disposition."  "Sir,"  she  whispered, 
"faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair  lady." 

The  tall  domino  considered  this  in  silence. 
"You'll  have  to  excuse  me,"  he  said,  "I  never 
played  this  game  before." 

"It  is  the  most  wonderful  game  in  the  world!" 
said  Sylvia,  fervently. 

"Perhaps,"  was  the  reply.  "To  me  it  seems 
a  very  foolish  game,  and  I  think  it  was  poor 
taste  on  Mrs.  Winthrop's  part." 

"Dear  me!"  thought  the  girl,  "what  kind  of 
a  fish  have  I  caught  here?"  There  was  some- 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  201 

thing  strangely  familiar  about  the  voice,  but  she 
could  not  place  it.  She  had  met  so  many  men 
in  the  last  week  or  two. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  "I  fear  me  that  you  lack  a 
little  of  that  holiday  glee  which  is  necessary  to 
such  occasion  as  this.  I  would  that  I  could  sing 
a  song  to  cheer  your  moping  spirit — 

'Nymphs  and  shepherds  come  away, 
For  this  is  Flora's  holiday!' 

Then,  leaning  a  little  nearer  yet,  "Come,  sir,  you 
must  make  an  effort." 

"What  shall  I  do?" 

"You  must  manage  to  throw  yourself  into  a 
state  of  rapture.  You  must  tell  me  that  you 
adore  me.  You  must  say  that  my  blue  eyes 
make  dim  the  vault  of  heaven " 

"But  I  can  hardly  see  your  eyes." 

"You  should  not  expect  to  see  them.  Have 
you  not  been  told  that  Love  is  blind?" 

So  she  tried  to  drive  this  tall  domino  to  play; 
but  it  was  sorry  frisking  that  he  did.  "You 
must  fall  down  upon  your  knees  before  me,"  she 
said;  but  he  protested  that  he  could  really  not 
do  that.  And  when  she  insisted,  "You  must!" 
he  got  down,  with  such  deliberation  that  the  girl 
was  half  convulsed  with  laughter. 

"Sir,"  she  chided,  "that  will  not  do.  When 
you  stop  to  ease  each  trouser-knee,  how  can  I 
believe  that  you  are  overcome  with  the  ardor 
of  your  feelings?  You  must  get  up  and  try 


202  SYLVIA 

again."  And  actually  she  made  him  get  up  and 
plump  down  suddenly  upon  his  knees;  and  was 
so  mischievous  and  so  merry  about  it  that  she 
got  even  him  to  laughing  in  the  end. 

She  was  sure  by  this  time  that  she  had  met 
the  man  before,  and  she  found  herself  running 
over  the  list  of  her  acquaintances,  trying  to 
imagine  which  one  could  be  capable  of  making 
love  in  such  a  fashion.  But  she  could  not  think 
of  one.  She  fell  to  studying  the  domino  and 
the  mask  before  her,  wondering  what  feelings 
could  be  behind  them.  Was  it  timidity  and 
lack  of  imagination?  Or  could  it  be  that  the 
man  was  sulky  and  uncivil  as  he  seemed?  When 
the  bell  rang  and  she  rose,  she  breathed  to  herself 
the  prayer  that  she  might  be  spared  running  into 
another  "stick"  like  that. 

The  next  partner  was  Harmon,  as  she  recog 
nized  before  he  had  said  a  dozen  sentences. 
Harmon  did  not  know  her,  but  being  in  love,  he 
knew  how  to  behave.  He  poured  out  to  Sylvia 
all  the  things  which  she  had  known  for  the  past 
week  he  was  longing  to  say  to  her;  and  Sylvia 
said  in  reply  everything  which  she  had  no  inten 
tion  of  saying  hi  reality.  So  the  episode  passed 
pleasantly,  and  the  girl  thought  somewhat  better 
of  Mrs.  Winthrop's  talents  as  a  hostess. 

Number  Three  was  again  a  tall  domino.  He 
seated  himself,  and  there  was  a  long  pause. 
"Well,  sir,"  said  Sylvia,  inquiringly. 

The  domino  delayed  again.  "You'll  have  to 
excuse  me,"  he  said,  at  last;  "I  never  played 
this  game  before." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  203 

And  Sylvia  realized  in  a  flash  of  dismay  that 
it  was  the  first  man  again!  The  same  voice — 
even  the  same  words!  "Sir,"  she  said,  coldly, 
"you  are  mistaken.  You  played  the  same  game 
with  me  not  twenty  minutes  ago." 

The  tall  domino  expressed  bewilderment.  "I  beg 
your  pardon — there  has  been  some  mistake." 

"There  has  indeed,"  said  Sylvia.  "The  door 
keeper  has  evidently  got  our  numbers  mixed." 
She  pondered  for  a  moment.  Should  she  go  and 
tell  Mr.  Bates? 

But  she  realized  that  it  was  too  late.  The 
couples  were  all  settled  and  the  game  proceeding. 
It  was  the  kind  of  blunder  that  was  always  being 
made  'at  these  parties — either  because  the  door 
keeper  was  stupid,  or  was  bribed  by  some  man 
who  wanted  to  make  love  in  earnest.  It  spoiled 
the  game — but  then,  as  Sylvia  had  just  said,  Love 
is  blind. 

"What  shall  we  do — wait?"  she  asked;  to  which 
the  man  replied,  "I  don't  mind." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  graciously.  "We'll 
have  to  make  the  best  of  it.  Don't  you  think 
you  can  manage  to  do  a  little  better  than  the  last 
time?" 

"I'll  try,"  he  replied.  "It's  beastly  stupid,  I 
think." 

Sylvia  considered.  "No,"  she  declared,  "I 
believe  it's  the  game  of  all  games  for  you." 

"How  so?" 

"Go  down  into  the  deeps  of  you.  Haven't 
you  something  there  that  is  real — something 


204  SYLVIA 

primitive  and  untamed,  that  chafes  against 
propriety,  and  wishes  it  had  not  been  born  in 
Boston?" 

"I  was  not  born  in  Boston,"  said  he. 

"Perhaps  not  hi  your  body,"  said  Sylvia,  "but 
your  soul  is  a  Boston  soul.  And  now  think  of 
this  opportunity  to  fling  loose,  to  be  just  as  bad 
as  you  want  to  be — and  quite  without  danger 
of  detection,  of  having  your  reputation  damaged! 
Surely,  sir,  there  could  be  no  game  more  adapted 
to  the  New  England  conscience!" 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  the  man;  and  actually 
there  was  warmth  in  his  tone.  Sylvia's  heart 
leaped,  and  she  caught  him  by  the  hand.  "Quick! 
Quick!"  she  cried.  "Gather  ye  rosebuds  while 
ye  may — old  time  is  still  a-flying!" 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  the  man  again;  and 
Sylvia,  kindling  with  mischief,  pressed  his  hand 
more  tightly  and  brought  him  upon  his  knees 
before  her.  "Make  haste!  You  have  but  one 
life — one  chance  to  be  yourself — to  vent  your 
emotions!  I've  no  idea  who  you  are,  I  can't 
possibly  tell  on  you — and  so  you  may  utter  those 
things  which  you  keep  hidden  even  from  your 
self!" 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed  for  the  third  time. 
"Really,  if  I  had  you  to  make  love  to " 

"But  you  have  me!  You  have  me!  For 
several  precious  minutes — alone  and  undisturbed! 
You  are  not  a  Boston  Brahmin  in  a  domino — 
you  are  a  faun  hi  the  forests  of  Arcady.  Come, 
Mr.  Faun!"  And  Sylvia  began  to  sing  in  a  low, 
caressing  manner: 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  205 

"Oh,  come,  my  love,  to  Arcady! 
A  dream  path  leads  us,  dear. 
One  hour  of  love  in  Arcady 
Is  worth  a  lifetime  here!" 

There  was  a  pause.  She  could  feel  the  man's 
hand  trembling.  "I  am  waiting!"  she  whispered; 
to  which  he  answered,  "I  wish  you  would  talk! 
You  make  love  so  much  better  than  I!" 

Sylvia  broke  into  one  of  her  merry  laughs. 
"A  leap-year  party!"  she  cried. 

But  the  other  was  in  earnest.  "I  like  to  listen 
to  you,"  he  said.  " Please  go  on!" 

Sylvia  was  laughing  so  that  she  felt  tears  hi 
her  eyes,  and  she  wanted  to  wipe  them  away 
under  her  mask.  Her  handkerchief  was  gone, 
and  she  looked  for  it — in  her  lap,  beside  her  on 
the  seat,  and  then  on  the  floor.  This  led  to  a 
curious  and  unexpected  turn  in  the  adventure — 
her  recognition  of  this  New  England  faun.  See 
ing  what  she  was  doing,  he  said,  "I  beg  parddn. 
Have  you  lost  something?" 

It  was  like  an  explosion  in  Sylvia's  mind.  Not 
merely  the  same  words — but  the  same  manner, 
the  same  accent,  the  same  personality! 

The  search  for  the  handkerchief  gave  her  the 
chance  to  recover  her  breath.  The  Lord  had 
delivered  him  into  her  hands  again! 

"Sir,"  she  said.  "I  resume.  You  have  over 
whelmed  me  with  the  torrent  of  your  ardor.  I 
feel  myself  swept  away  in  a  flood  which  my  feeble 
will  cannot  resist.  You  come  to  me  like  a  royal 


206  SYLVIA 

wooer — like  some  god  out  of  the  skies,  stunning 
the  senses  of  a  mere  mortal  maiden!  Who  can 
this  be — I  ask  myself.  From  what  source  can 
such  superhuman  eloquence  and  fervor  spring? 
Can  I  endure  it?  I  cry — or  shall  I  be  burned  up 
and  destroyed,  like  Danai  in  the  legend?  It  is 
just  so  that  he  descends  upon  me — like  Jupiter, 
in  a  shower  of  gold!" 

Sylvia  could  feel  the  tall  domino  stiffen  and 
rear  himself.  She  had  meant  to  go  on,  but  she 
stopped,  so  great  was  her  curiosity.  How  would 
he  take  it? 

At  last  came  the  voice  from  under  the  mask. 
"I  see,"  it  said,  "that  you  have  the  advantage 
of  me.  You  do  know  who  I  am." 

Sylvia  was  almost  transported — by  a  combina 
tion  of  amazement  and  amusement.  "Know  who 
you  are?"  she  cried.  "How  could  I  fail  to 
know  who  you  are?  You,  my  divinity!  You, 
to  whom  all  the  world  bends  the  knee!  Sire, 
receive  my  homage — I  bow  in  adoration  before 
the  Golden  Calf!" 

And  she  sunk  down  upon  one  knee  before  the 
tall  domino! 

It  was  putting  herself  into  his  hands.  She  was 
fully  prepared  to  see  him  rise  and  stalk  away — 
but  so  possessed  was  she  that  she  would  have 
enjoyed  even  that!  Fortunately,  however,  at 
this  moment  the  bell  rang,  saving  her.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  caught  the  hand  of  her 
divinity  hi  one  quick  clasp  of  parting.  "Good 
bye,  Mr.  van  Tuiver!"  she  exclaimed.  "Good 
bye — until  the  next  incarnation!" 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  207 

§  12 

FOR  the  next  dance  Sylvia's  partner  was  a  youth 
whom  she  could  not  identify.  He  had  evidently 
been  reading  the  poets,  for  his  declarations  of 
devotion  were  lacking  in  naught  but  rhyme. 
Sylvia  accepted  him  politely,  hardly  hearing  his 
words — so  busy  was  she  with  the  thought  of  van 
Tuiver.  Had  it  been  accident,  or  a  trick?  She 
would  soon  know. 

There  came  another  dance — and  again  a  tall 
domino.  Sylvia  suspected,  but  was  not  sure, 
until  they  were  in  their  seats,  when  the  domino 
sat  stiff  and  straight,  and  she  was  certain.  "Is 
that  you?"  she  asked;  and  the  answer  came, 
"It  is.5' 

"It  is  evident  that  some  one  is  amusing  himself 
at  our  expense,"  said  Sylvia,  coldly.  "I  really 
think  we  shall  have  to  stop  it." 

"Miss  Castleman,"  broke  hi  the  other.  "I 
hope  you  will  believe  me  that  I  have  had  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  do  with  this." 

She  answered,  consolingly,  "I  assure  you,  Mr. 
van  Tuiver,  your  unpreparedness  has  been  quite 
evident." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  he  considered  that. 
"What  shall  we  do?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  that  you  had  best  see  Mr.  Bates,  and 
make  clear  to  him  that  we  have  had  enough." 

He  hesitated.     "Is — is  that  really  necessary?" 

"What  else  can  we  do — spend  the  evening 
together?" 

"I  really  wish  we  could,  Miss  Castleman!" 


208  SYLVIA 

"What — and  you  making  love  as  you  have 
been?" 

"I  can  do  better  now.  I  really  am  quite 
charmed  with  the  game.  I'd  like  to  make  love 
to  you — for  a  long  tune." 

"Most  flattering,  Mr.  van  Tuiver — but  how 
about  me?  We've  conversed  a  lot  already,  and 
you  haven't  said  one  interesting  thing." 

"Miss  Castleman!" 

"Not  one — excepting  one  or  two  that  have 
been  insolent." 

There  was  a  pause.  "Really,"  he  pleaded, 
"that  is  a  hard  thing  to  say!" 

"Do  you  mean,"  she  inquired,  coldly,  "that 
you  have  not  realized  the  meaning  of  what  you 
said  to  me  when  we  met  on  the  street?" 

"I  don't  know  just  what  you  refer  to,"  he 
replied,  "but  you  must  admit  that  you  had  me 
at  a  great  disadvantage  that  evening." 

"What  disadvantage,  Mr.  van  Tuiver?  The 
fact  that  I  did  not  know  who  you  were?" 

She  could  feel  him  wince.  She  was  prepared 
for  a  retort — but  not  so  severe  as  the  one  which 
came.  "The  disadvantage,"  he  said,  "that  you 
pretended  not  to  know  who  I  was." 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

He  answered.  "If  we  are  going  to  fight,  it 
ought  to  be  upon  a  fair  field.  You  pretended 
that  evening  that  you  had  never  heard  my  name. 
But  I  learned  since  that  only  a  day  or  two  before 
you  had  had  a  quite  elaborate  conversation  about 
me." 

Sylvia's  first  impulse  was  to  inquire  sarcastic- 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  209 

ally  what  right  he  had  to  assume  that  his  illus 
trious  name  would  stay  in  her  memory.  But  she 
realized  that  that  was  a  poor  retort;  and  then  her 
sense  of  fair  play  came  in.  After  all,  he  was 
right — the  joke  was  on  her,  and  she  rather  admired 
his  nerve. 

So  she  began  to  laugh.  "Mr.  van  Tuiver," 
she  said,  "you  have  annoyed  me  so  that  I  won't 
even  take  the  trouble  to  think  up  new  lies  to  tell 
you.  Realize,  if  you  can,  the  impression  you 
managed  to  make  upon  a  young  girl — you  and 
your  reputation  together — that  she  should  be 
moved  to  use  such  weapons  against  you!" 

He  forgot  his  anger  at  this.  "That's  just  it, 
Miss  Castleman!  I  don't  understand  it  at  all! 
What  have  I  done  that  you  should  take  such  an 
attitude  towards  me?" 

Sylvia  pondered.  "I  fear,"  she  said,  "that 
you  would  not  thank  me  for  telling  you." 

"You  are  mistaken!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  really 
would  like  to  know." 

"I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  it." 

"But  why  not?" 

"I  know  it  could  not  do  any  good." 

"But  how  can  you  say  that — when  I  assure 
you  I  am  in  earnest?  I  have  a  very  sincere 
admiration  for  you — truly.  You  are  one  of  the 
most — one  of  the  most  amazing  young  women 
I  ever  met.  I  don't  say  that  in  a  bad  sense,  you 
understand ' ' 

"I  understand,"  said  Sylvia,  smiling.  "I  have 
tried  my  best  to  be  amazing." 

u 


210  SYLVIA 

"It  is  evident  that  you  dislike  me  intensely," 
he  went  on.  "I  ask  you  to  tell  me  why.  What 
have  I  done?" 

"It  isn't  so  much  what  you  have  done — it  is 
what  you  are" 

"And  what  am  I,  Miss  Castleman?" 

"I  don't  know  just  how  to  put  it  into  words. 
You  are  some  sort  of  monstrosity;  something 
that  when  I  see  it,  fills  me  with  a  blind  rage,  so 
that  I  want  to  fly  at  its  throat.  And  then  I 
realize  that  even  in  attacking  it  I  am  putting 
myself  upon  a  level  with  it — and  so  I  want  to 
turn  and  flee  for  my  life — or  rather  for  my  self- 
respect.  I  want  to  flee  from  it,  Mr.  van  Tuiver, 
and  never  see  it,  never  hear  its  voice,  never  even 
know  of  its  existence!  Do  you  see?" 

"I  see/'  said  the  man,  in  a  voice  so  faint  as 
to  be  hardly  audible;  and  then  suddenly  came 
the  sound  of  the  bell,  and  Sylvia  sprang  up. 

"I  flee!"  she  said. 


§  13 

THEKE  came  a  new  dance,  the  sixth,  and  a  new 
partner,  who  was  short,  and  was  speedily  dis 
covered  to  be  Jackson.  Then  came  the  seventh 
dance,  and  Sylvia  expected  that  it  would  be  her 
Faun  again,  but  was  disappointed.  It  was  a  man 
unknown,  and  she  wondered  if  Bates  had  lost  his 
nerve.  But  with  Number  Eight  came  the  inevi 
table  return. 


SYLVIA  LINGERS 


Van  Tuiver  was  so  anxious  this  time  that  he 
asked  before  he  began  to  dance,  "Is  that  you?" 
And  when  Sylvia  answered  "Yes,"  she  could 
hear  his  sigh  of  relief.  All  through  the  dance 
she  could  feel  his  excitement.  Once  or  twice  he 
tried  to  talk,  but  she  whispered  to  him,  to  keep 
the  rules. 

The  moment  they  were  seated  he  said,  "Miss 
Castleman,  you  must  explain  to  me  what  you 
mean." 

"I  knew  I'd  have  to  explain,"  she  responded. 
"I've  been  thinking  how  I  could  make  you 
understand.  You  see,  I'm  a  comparative  stranger 
to  this  world  of  yours,  and  things  might  shock 
me  which  would  seem  to  you  quite  a  matter  of 
course.  I  suppose  I'm  what  you'd  call  a  country 
girl,  and  have  a  provincial  outlook." 

"Please  go  on,"  he  said. 

"Well,  Mr.  van  Tuiver,  you  have  an  enormous 
amount  of  money.  Twenty  or  thirty  million 
dollars  —  forty  or  fifty  million  dollars  —  the  authori 
ties  don't  seem  to  agree  about  it.  As  well  as  I 
can  put  the  matter,  you  have  so  much  that  it  has 
displaced  you;  it  isn't  you  who  think,  it  isn't 
you  who  speak  —  it's  your  money.  You  seem  to 
be  a  sort  of  quivering,  uneasy  consciousness  of 
uncounted  millions  of  dollars;  and  the  only  thing 
that  comes  back  to  you  from  your  surroundings 
is  an  echo  of  that  quivering  consciousness." 

"Do  I  really  seem  like  that  to  you?" 

"It's  the  impression  you've  made  upon  every 
one  who  knows  you." 


212  SYLVIA 

"Oh,  surely  not!"  he  cried. 

" Quite  literally  that,"  said  Sylvia.  "I  hated 
you  before  I  ever  laid  eyes  on  you — because  of 
the  way  you'd  impressed  your  friends." 

There  was  a  pause;  when  van  Tuiver  spoke 
again  it  was  in  a  low  and  uncertain  voice.  "Miss 
Castleman,"  he  said,  "has  it  ever  occurred  to 
you  to  think  what  might  be  the  difficulties  of  my 
situation?" 

"No,  I  haven't  had  time  for  that." 

"Well,  take  this  one  fact.  You  say  that  I 
have  made  a  certain  impression  upon  everyone 
who  knows  me.  But  you  are  the  first  person  hi 
my  whole  lifetime  who's  ever  told  me." 

Sylvia  gave  an  exclamation  of  incredulity. 

"Don't  you  see?"  pressed  on  the  other,  eagerly. 
"What  is  a  man  to  do?  I  have  a  great  deal  of 
money.  I  can't  help  that.  And  I  can't  help  the 
fact  that  it  gives  me  a  great  deal  of  power.  I 
can't  help  having  a  sense  of  responsibility." 

"The  sense  of  responsibility  has  been  too  much 
for  you,"  said  Sylvia. 

This  was  too  subtle  for  him.  He  hurried  on: 
"Maybe  it's  right,  maybe  it's  wrong — but  cir 
cumstances  have  given  me  a  certain  position,  and 
I  have  to  maintain  it.  I  have  certain  duties  which 
I  must  fulfill,  which  I  can't  possibly  get  away 
from." 

There  was  a  pause.  He  seemed  to  feel  that 
the  situation  was  not  satisfactory,  and  started 
again.  "It's  all  very  well  for  you,  who  don't  real 
ize  my  position,  the  responsibilities  I  have — it's  all 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  213 

very  well  for  you  to  talk  about  my  consciousness 
of  money.  But  how  can  I  get  away  from  it? 
People  know  about  my  money,  they  think  about 
it — they  expect  certain  things  of  me.  They  put 
me  hi  a  certain  position,  whether  I  will  or  not." 

He  stopped  again.  He  was  so  greatly  agitated 
that  Sylvia  was  beginning  to  feel  pity.  "Do  you 
have  to  be  what  people  expect  you  to  be?"  she 
said. 

"But,"  he  argued,  "I  have  the  money,  and 
I  have  to  make  use  of  it — to  invest  it — to  protect 
it " 

"Ah,  but  all  that  is  in  the  business  world. 
What  I'm  talking  about  is  hi  a  separate  sphere — 
your  social  relations." 

"But,  Miss  Castleman,  that's  just  it — is  it 
separate?  It  ought  to  be,  you'll  say — but  is  it? 
I  tell  you,  you  simply  don't  know,  that's  all. 
People  profess  friendship  for  me,  but  they  want 
something,  and  by  and  by  I  find  out  what  it  is 
they  want.  You  say  that's  monstrous;  I  know, 
I  used  to  think  it  was,  myself.  You  say,  I  ought 
not  to  know  it;  but  I  can't  help  knowing  it;  it's 
forced  upon  me  by  all  the  circumstances  of  my 
life.  Sometimes  I  think  I've  never  had  a  dis 
interested  friend  since  I  was  born!" 

Sylvia  perceived  the  intensity  behind  his  words, 
and  was  silent  for  a  minute.  "But  surely,"  she 
said,  "here — hi  the  democracy  of  college  life " 

"It's  exactly  the  same  here  as  anywhere  else. 
Here  are  clubs,  social  cabals,  everybody  pushing 
and  intriguing,  exactly  as  hi  New  York  society. 


SYLVIA 

Take  that  fact  you  spoke  of — that  all  the  fellows 
dislike  me,  and  yet  not  one  of  them  has  dared 
to  tell  me  so!" 

"Dared?"  repeated  Sylvia. 

"Oh,  well,  perhaps  they  dared — the  point  is, 
they  didn't.  The  ones  who  had  to  make  their 
own  way  were  busy  making  it;  and  the  others, 
who  had  got  in  of  right — well,  they  believe  in 
money.  They'd  all  shrug  their  shoulders  and 
say,  'What's  the  use  of  antagonizing  such  a 
man?'  " 

"I  see,"  said  Sylvia,  fascinated. 

"Whatever  the  reason  is,  they  never  call  me 
down — not  a  man  of  them.  And  then,  as  for  the 
women " 

Sylvia  had  not  made  any  sound,  but  somehow 
he  felt  her  sudden  interest.  He  said,  with  signs 
of  agitation,  "Please,  Miss  Castleman,  don't  be 
offended.  You  asked  me  to  talk  about  it." 

"Go  on,"  she  said.  "I'm  really  most  curious. 
I  suppose  all  the  women  want  to  marry  you?" 

"It  isn't  only  that.  They  want  anything. 
They  just  want  to  be  seen  with  me.  Of  course, 
when  they  start  to  make  love  to  me — "  He 
paused. 

"You  stop  them,  I  hope,"  said  Sylvia,  modestly. 

"I  do  when  I  know  it.     But,  you  see " 

He  paused  again;  it  was  evidently  a  difficult 
topic.  "Pray  don't  mind,"  said  Sylvia,  laughing. 
"They're  subtle  creatures,  I  know.  Do  many 
of  them  make  love  to  you?" 

"I  know  you're  laughing  at  me,  Miss  Castle- 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  215 

man.  But  believe  me,  it's  no  joke.  If  you'd 
see  some  of  the  letters  I  get!" 

"Oh,  they  write  you  love  letters?" 

"Not  only  love  letters.  I  don't  mind  them — 
but  the  letters  from  women  in  distress,  the  most 
terrible  stories  you  can  imagine.  Once  I  was 
foolish  enough — didn't  anybody  tell  you  the  scrape 
I  got  into?" 

"No." 

"That's  curious — they  generally  like  to  tell  it. 
I  was  weak  enough  to  let  one  woman  get  into 
my  house  in  Cambridge.  She  had  a  tragedy  to 
rehearse,  and  I  listened  to  her,  and  finally  she 
wanted  ten  thousand  dollars.  I  didn't  know  if 
her  story  was  true,  and  I  said  No,  and  then  she 
began  to  scream  for  help.  The  servants  came 
running,  and  she  said — well,  you  can  imagine, 
how  I'd  insulted  her,  and  all  that.  I  told  my 
man  to  throw  her  out,  but  she  said  she'd  scratch 
his  eyes  out,  she'd  scream  from  the  window, 
she'd  stand  on  the  street  outside  and  denounce 
me  till  the  police  came,  she'd  give  the  news 
papers  the  whole  story  of  the  way  I'd  abused  her. 
And  so  finally  I  had  to  give  her  all  the  money  I 
happened  to  have  on  me." 

"Great  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Sylvia,  who  had 
not  thought  of  anything  so  serious  as  that. 

"You  see  how  it  is.  For  the  most  part  I've 
escaped  that  kind  of  thing,  because  I  was  taught. 
My  Great-uncle  Douglas,  who  died  recently — he 
was  my  guardian,  and  he  taught  me  all  about 
women  when  I  was  very  young — not  more  than 


216  SYLVIA 

ten.  He  had  charge  of  my  upbringing,  and  he 
wouldn't  allow  a  woman  in  my  household." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Sylvia,  "what  a  cynic  he  must 
have  been!" 

"He  died  a  bachelor,"  said  the  other,  "and 
left  me  a  great  deal  of  money.  So  you  see — 
that  is " 

"He'd  had  to  be  a  cynic!"  laughed  the  girl. 
And  van  Tuiver  laughed  with  her — more  humanly 
than  she  had  ever  thought  possible. 

She  considered  for  a  moment,  and  then  suddenly 
asked,  "Mr.  van  Tuiver,  has  it  never  occurred 
to  you  that  7  might  be  making  love  to  you?" 

She  could  not  see  his  face,  but  she  knew  that 
he  was  staring  at  her  in  dismay.  "Oh,  surely 
not,  Miss  Castleman!"  he  exclaimed. 

"But  how  can  you  be  sure?"  she  asked. 
"Where  is  your  training?" 

"Miss  Castleman,"  he  said,  "please  take  me 
seriously." 

"I'm  quite  serious.  In  fact,  I  think  I  ought 
to  tell  you,  I  have  been  making  love  to  you." 

"Surely  not!"  he  said. 

"I  mean  it,  quite  literally.  I've  been  doing 
it  from  the  first  moment  I  met  you — doing  it  in 
spite  of  all  my  resolutions  to  the  contrary!" 

"But  why?" 

"Well,  because  I  hated  you,  and  also  because 
I  pitied  you.  I  said,  I'll  get  him  in  my  power 
and  punish  him — and  at  the  same  time  teach 
him." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  van  Tuiver;  and  she  thought 
that  she  detected  a  note  of  relief  in  the  word. 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  217 

"You  are  glad  I  don't  mean  to  marry  you," 
she  said;  and  when  he  started  to  protest,  she  cut 
him  short  with,  "You're  not  applying  the  wis 
dom  of  your  great-uncle!  I  say  I  don't  want  to 
marry  you,  but  most  likely  that's  a  device  to  dis 
arm  you,  to  make  you  want  to  marry  me.'' 

In  spite  of  his  evident  distress,  she  was  incor 
rigible.  "You  ought  to  be  up  and  away,"  she 
declared — "scared  out  ef  your  wits.  I  tell  you 
I'm  the  most  dangerous  woman  you've  ever  met. 
And  I  mean  it  literally.  I'll  wager  that  if  your 
great-uncle  had  ever  met  my  great-aunt,  he 
would  not  have  died  a  bachelor!  Take  my 
advice,  and  fall  ill  and  leave  this  party  at  once." 

"Why  should  I  be  afraid  of  you?"  he  demanded. 
"Why  shouldn't  I  marry  you  if  I  want  to?" 

"What!  a  poor  girl  like  me?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  I  can  afford  to  marry 
a  poor  girl  if  I  feel  like  it?" 

"But — think  of  the  ignominy  of  being  trapped!" 

He  considered  this.  "I'm  not  afraid  of  that 
either,"  he  said.  "If  you've  had  the  wit  to  do 
it — and  none  of  the  others  had " 

"Oh!"  she  laughed.  "Then  you're  willing  to 
be  hunted!" 

"Miss  Castleman,"  he  protested,  "you  are 
unkind.  I've  thought  seriously.  You  really  are 
a  most  beautiful  woman,  and  at  the  same  tune 
a  most  amazingly  clever  woman.  You  would 
be  an  ornament  in  my  life — I'd  always  be  proud 
of  you — " 

He  paused.    "Mr.  van  Tuiver,"  she  demanded, 


218  SYLVIA 

"am  I  to  understand  that  this  is  a  serious 
proposal?" 

She  could  feel  his  quiver  of  fear.  "Why,"  he 
stammered — ' '  really ' ' 

"Don't  you  see  how  dangerous  it  is!"  she 
exclaimed.  "You  were  almost  caught!  Make 
your  escape,  Mr.  van  Tuiver!" 

And  then  came  the  sound  of  the  bell.  She 
started  up.  "Go  and  tell  Mr.  Bates!"  she  cried. 
"Don't  let  him  do  this  again — if  you  do,  you  are 
lost  forever!" 


§  14 

THE  next  partner  was  Harley.  It  was  a  nui 
sance  having  to  entertain  your  own  cousin,  but 
Sylvia  amused  herself  by  keeping  Harley  from 
recognizing  her.  And  in  the  meantime  she  was 
wondering  what  her  Victim  would  do  next. 

She  knew  his  very  style  of  dancing  by  now, 
and  needed  to  make  no  inquiries  of  Number  Ten. 
"You  did  not  take  my  advice,"  she  remarked, 
when  they  were  seated. 

"No,"  he  said.  "On  the  contrary,  I  told 
Bates  to  put  us  together  the  rest  of  the  tune." 

"Oh,  no!"  she  protested. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  declared.  "I  must 
talk  to  you." 

"But  you  had  no  right!  He  will  tell,  and 
everybody  will  be  talking  about  it." 

"I  don't  care  if  they  do." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  219 

"But  I  care,  Mr.  van  Tuiver — you  should  not 
have  taken  such  a  liberty." 

"Please,  Miss  Castleman,"  he  hurried  on, 
"please  listen  to  me.  I've  been  thinking  about 
it,  and  it  interests  me  keenly.  I  believe  that  in 
you  I  might  really  have  a  friend — if  only  you 
would.  A  real  friend,  I  mean — who'd  tell  me  the 
truth — who'd  be  absolutely  disinterested " 

The  fun  of  it  was  too  much  for  Sylvia. 
"Haven't  I  explained  to  you  that  I  mightn't 
be  disinterested?" 

"I'll  trust  you." 

"Of  course,"  she  went  on,  gravely.  "I  might 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  I  wouldn't  marry 
you." 

"Yes,"  he  agreed,  "I  suppose  so " 

The  girl  was  convulsed  with  laughter.  "Mr. 
van  Tuiver,"  she  remarked,  "I  see  you  are  an 
earnest  man;  I  really  ought  to  stop  teasing  you. 
Don't  you  think  I  ought?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  dubiously..  "At  least — I 
never  liked  to  be  teased  before." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you  this  for  your  comfort. 
There's  no  remotest  possibility  of  my  ever  marry 
ing  you,  so  you  can  feel  quite  safe." 

Somehow  he  did  not  seem  sure  whether  he  was 
pleased  at  this  pledge.  After  a  pause  he  went 
on:  "What  I  mean  is  that  I  think  a  man  in  my 
position  ought  to  have  somebody  to  tell  him  the 
truth." 

"Something  like  the  court-jesters  in  old  days," 
said  Sylvia. 


220  SYLVIA 

But  he  was  not  interested  in  mediaeval  customs. 
He  was  interested  in  his  own  need,  and  she  had 
to  promise  that  she  would  admit  him  to  the 
arcanum  of  her  friendship,  and  that  she  would 
always  tell  him  exactly  what  she  thought  about 
him — his  actions,  his  ideas,  even  his  manners. 
In  fulfilment  of  which  promise  she  spent  the  rest 
of  that  seance,  and  the  two  that  followed,  in 
listening  to  him  talk  about  himself  and  his  Me. 

It  was  really  most  curious — an  inside  glimpse 
into  a  kind  of  life  of  which  one  heard,  but  with 
no  idea  of  ever  encountering  it;  just  as  one  read 
of  train-robbers  and  safe-blowers,  but  never 
expected  to  sit  and  chat  with  them.  Douglas 
van  Tuiver  had  achieved  notoriety  before  he  had 
cut  a  single  tooth;  his  mother  and  father  having 
been  killed  in  a  railroad  accident  when  he  was 
two  months  old,  the  courts  had  appointed  trustees 
and  guardians,  and  the  newspapers  had  under 
taken  a  kind  of  unofficial  supervision.  The 
precious  infant  had  been  brought  up  by  a  staff 
of  tutors,  with  majordomos  and  lackeys  in  the 
background,  and  two  private  detectives  and  a 
great-uncle  and  Mrs.  Harold  Cliveden  to  oversee 
the  whole.  It  did  not  need  much  questioning 
to  get  the  details  of  this  life — the  lonely  palace 
on  Fifth  Avenue,  the  monumental  "cottage"  at 
Newport,  the  "camp"  hi  the  Adirondacks,  the 
yacht  in  the  West  Indies;  the  costly  toys,  the 
"blooded"  pets,  the  gold  plate,  the  tedious,  suf 
focating  solemnity.  If  Sylvia  had  been  furious 
with  van  Tuiver  before,  she  was  ready  now  to 


SYLVIA   LINGERS 

go  to  the  opposite  extreme  and  weep  over  him. 
A  child  brought  up  wholly  by  employees,  with  no 
brothers  and  sisters  to  kick  and  scratch  him  into 
decency,  no  cousins,  no  playmates  even — unless 
he  was  first  togged  out  in  an  Eton  suit  and  escorted 
by  a  tutor  to  the  birthday  party  of  some  other 
little  togged-out  aristocrat! 

Yes,  assuredly  this  unhappy  man  needed  some 
one  to  tell  him  the  truth!  Sylvia  resolved  that 
she  would  fill  the  r61e.  She  would  be  quite  un 
moved  by  his  Royalty  (the  word  by  which  she 
had  come  to  sum  up  to  herself  the  whole  phenom 
enon  of  van  Tuiverness).  She  would  persist  in 
regarding  him  as  any  other  human  being,  saying 
to  him  what  she  felt  like,  pretending  to  him,  and 
even  to  herself,  that  he  really  was  not  Royalty  at 
aU! 

But  alas,  she  soon  found  what  a  task  she  had 
undertaken!  The  last  dance  had  been  danced, 
and  amid  much  merriment  the  guests  unmasked 
— and  still  van  Tuiver  wanted  to  stay  and  talk 
to  his  one  friend.  He  escorted  her  to  supper, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Winthrop  had  other 
arrangements  for  him.  And  even  if  he  had 
behaved  himself,  there  was  the  tale  which 
"Tubby"  Bates  had  been  diligently  spreading. 
The  girl  realized  all  at  once  that  she  had  achieved 
a  new  and  startling  kind  of  prominence;  all  the 
guests,  men  and  women,  were  watching  her, 
whispering  about  her,  envying  her.  She  felt  a 
wicked  thrill  of  triumph  and  pleasure.  She, 
a  stranger,  an  obscure  girl  from  the  provinces, 


222  SYLVIA 

who  would  ordinarily  have  been  an  object  of 
suspicion  and  investigation — she  had  leaped  at 
one  moment  into  supremacy!  She  had  become 
the  favorite  of  the  King! 

Pretty  soon  came  Harley,  a-tremble  with 
delight.  "Gee  whiz,  old  girl,  you  sure  have 
scored  to-night!  For  God's  sake,  how  did  you 
manage  it?"  Sylvia  felt  herself  hot  with  sudden 
shame. 

And  then  came  Bates.  She  tried  to  scold  him, 
but  he  would  simply  not  have  it.  "Now,  Miss 
Castleman!  Now,  Miss  Castleman!" — that  was 
all  he  would  say.  What  it  meant  was:  "It  is 
all  right  for  you  to  pretend,  of  course;  but  you 
can't  persuade  me  that  you  are  really  angry!" 

"Please  go  away,"  she  said  at  last;  but  he 
wanted  to  tell  her  what  different  people  said,  and 
would  not  be  shaken  off.  While  he  was  still 
teasing,  there  swept  past  them  a  girl  to  whom 
Sylvia  had  not  been  introduced — a  solid-looking 
young  Amazon  with  a  freckled  snub  nose.  She 
gave  Sylvia  what  appeared  to  be  a  haughty  look, 
and  Bates  whispered,  "Do  you  know  who  that 
is?  That's  Dorothy  Cortlandt! — the  girl  van 
Tuiver  is  to  marry." 

"Really!"  exclaimed  Sylvia,  who  was  cross 
with  all  the  world.  "How  did  her  nose  get 
broken?" 

And  the  other  answered  with  a  grin,  "You 
ought  to  know — you  did  it!"  And  so,  as 
Sylvia  could  not  help  laughing,  Bates  counted 
himself  forgiven. 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  223 

A  little  later  came  the  encounter  with  Edith 
Winthrop.  It  was  after  supper,  and  the  two 
found  themselves  face  to  face.  "What  a  charm 
ing  party  it  has  been!"  said  Sylvia,  and  the  other 
gave  her  what  was  meant  to  be  a  freezing  stare. 
It  was  so  rude  that  Sylvia  thought  she  must 
have  been  misunderstood.  "The  party's  been  a 
success,"  she  ventured.  "Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Ideas  of  success  differ,"  remarked  the  other, 
coldly,  and  turned  her  back  and  began  an  animated 
conversation  with  someone  else. 

"Dear  me,"  thought  Sylvia,  as  she  moved  on, 
"What  have  I  done?"  She  saw  in  another  part 
of  the  room  her  hostess  talking  to  van  Tuiver, 
and  made  up  her  mind  at  once  that  she  would 
find  out  if  the  beautiful  soul-friendship  was  shat 
tered  also.  She  moved  over  towards  the  two, 
resisting  an  effort  on  the  part  of  Harmon  to  draw 
her  into  a  tete-a-tete. 

"Mrs.  Winthrop,"  she  said,  "I'm  so  glad  I 
stayed  over." 

" Queen  Isabella"  turned  the  mystical  eyes  upon 
her,  one  of  the  deep,  inscrutable  gazes.  Sylvia 
waited,  knowing  that  it  might  mean  anything 
from  reverie  to  murder.  "My  dear  Sylvia,"  she 
said  at  last,  "you  are  pale  to-night." 

This,  in  the  presence  of  van  Tuiver,  probably 
meant  war.  "Am  I?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  don't  dissipate  too  much! 
Women  of  your  type  fade  quickly." 

"What?"  laughed  the  other,  gaily.  "With 
my  red  eyes  and  red  hair?  A  century  could  not 
extinguish  me!" 


224  SYLVIA 

She  passed  on,  and  discovered  that  van  Tuiver 
was  following  her.  "You  aren't  going,  are  you, 
Miss  Castleman?"  he  asked;  and  while  he  was 
begging  her  to  stay,  Sylvia  saw  her  hostess  move 
across  the  room  to  Dorothy  Cortlandt.  These 
two  stood  conversing  earnestly,  and  one  glance 
was  enough  to  tell  Sylvia  what  they  were  con 
versing  about. 

All  this  was  a  sore  temptation,  but  Sylvia  was 
in  a  virtuous  mood.  "Mr.  van  Tuiver,"  she  said, 
"there  is  something  I  want  to  say  to  you.  I've 
thought  it  over,  and  made  up  my  mind  that  it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  be  the  friend  you  want." 

"Why,  Miss  Castleman!"  he  exclaimed,  in 
distress.  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  can't  explain " 

"But  what  have  I  done?" 

"It's  nothing  that  you've  done.  It's  simply 
that  I  couldn't  stand  the  world  you  live  in.  Oh, 
I'd  be  a  dreadful  woman  if  I  stayed  very  long!" 

"Please,  listen — "  he  implored. 

But  she  cut  him  short.  "I  am  sorry  to  give 
you  pain,  but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  abso 
lutely.  There  is  no  possible  way  I  can  help  you. 
I  am  not  willing  to  see  you  again,  and  you  must 
positively  not  ask  it."  After  which  speech  she 
went  to  look  for  her  cousin,  leaving  van  Tuiver 
such  a  picture  of  agitation  that  everyone  in  the 
room  observed  it.  Could  the  King's  nose  be 
broken  too? 


SYLVIA  LINGERS 

§  15 

THE  next  morning  came  a  note  from  van  Tuiver. 
He  was  sure  that  Miss  Castleman  must  have 
reconsidered  her  cruel  decision,  and  he  begged 
her  to  grant  him  one  brief  interview.  Might 
he  take  her  riding  in  his  car  that  morning?  The 
bearer  would  wait  for  an  answer.  Sylvia  replied 
that  her  decision  was  unchanged  and  unchange 
able — she  was  sorry  to  hurt  his  feelings,  but  she 
must  ask  him  to  give  up  all  thought  of  her. 

A  couple  of  hours  later  came  van  Tuiver  him 
self,  and  sent  up  his  card  and  with  a  line  scribbled 
on  it,  "What  have  I  done  to  anger  you?"  She 
wrote  back,  "I  am  not  angry,  but  I  cannot  see 
you."  After  which  an  hour  more  elapsed  and 
there  came  a  telephone-call  from  "Tubby"  Bates, 
who  begged  the  honor  of  a  few  minutes  talk. 

"I  ought  to  refuse  to  speak  to  you  again," 
said  Sylvia.  But  in  the  end  she  gave  way  and 
told  him  he  might  call. 

He  had  come  as  an  emissary,  of  course.  The 
young  millionaire  was  in  a  dreadful  state,  he 
explained,  being  convinced  that  he  had  committed 
some  unmentionable  offence. 

"I  don't  care  to  talk  about  the  matter,"  said 
Sylvia. 

"But,"  persisted  Bates,  "he  declares  that  I 
got  him  into  the  predicament,  and  now  I'm 
honor-bound  to  get  him  out." 

So  she  had  to  set  to  work  to  explain  her  point 
of  view.  Mr.  Bates,  who  himself  owed  no  par- 

15 


226  SYLVIA 

ticular  allegiance  to  Royalty,  should  be  able  to 
understand;  he  must  realize  that  her  annoyance 
was  not  personal,  but  was,  so  to  speak,  an  affair 
of  State.  This  had  been  her  first  experience  at 
Court,  she  said;  and  the  atmosphere  had  proven 
bad  for  her — had  made  her  pale,  and  would  soon 
turn  her  into  a  faded  old  woman. 

Evidently  "Tubby"  had  heard  that  part  of 
the  story  also;  first  he  grinned,  and  then  in  his 
r61e  of  diplomat  set  to  work  to  smooth  away 
her  objections.  "You  surely  don't  mind  a  little 
thing  like  that,"  he  pleaded.  "Haven't  you  any 
jealous  ladies  down  South?" 

"If  we  are  going  to  discuss  this  question,  Mr. 
Bates,  I  must  speak  frankly.  Our  hostesses  are 
polite  to  their  guests." 

The  other  began  suddenly  to  laugh.  "Even 
when  the  guests  steal?" 

"When  they  steal?" 

"Jewels!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Bright,  par 
ticular,  conspicuous  jewels — crown-jewels,  pre 
cious  beyond  replacing!  Think,  Miss  Castleman, 
you  trust  a  guest,  you  admit  him  to  your  castle 
— and  suddenly  you  find  that  the  great  ruby  of 
your  diadem  is  gone!" 

"Is  it  that  Mrs.  Winthrop  hopes  to  marry  van 
Tuiver  to  her  daughter?"  asked  Sylvia,  crossly. 

' '  Oh,  no, ' '  said  Bates.  "  He  is  to  marry  Dorothy 
Cortlandt — that  was  arranged  when  they  were 
babies,  and  Mrs.  Winthrop  wouldn't  dream  of 
cutting  in  on  it." 

"But  then,  if  I  haven't  robbed  Edith " 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  227 

"My  dear  Miss  Castleman,"  said  the  other, 
"you've  robbed  Mrs.  Winthrop  herself." 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  said  the  girl. 

"Please  don't  misunderstand,"  said  Bates. 
"It's  all  perfectly  proper  and  noble,  you  know — 
and  all  that.  I've  nothing  to  say  against  Mrs. 
Winthrop — she's  a  charming  woman,  and  has  a 
right  to  be  admired  by  everybody.  But  being 
a  queen,  you  see,  she  has  to  have  a  court,  with 
a  lot  of  distinguished  courtiers.  She  reads  poetry 
to  them,  and  they  write  it  to  her,  and  they  sit 
at  her  feet  and  dream  wonderful  dreams,  and  she 
gazes  at  them.  I  know  a  dozen  fellows  who've 
been  that  way  all  through  college;  and  I  suppose 
it  does  them  good — they  tell  me  I  haven't  any 
soul  and  can't  understand  these  things.  What 
I've  always  said  is,  'Maybe  you're  right,  and 
maybe  I'm  a  brute,  but  it  looks  to  me  like  the 
same  old  game.' ' 

"The  same  old  game,"  repeated  Sylvia,  won- 
deringly.  She  found  herself  thinking  suddenly 
of  one  of  the  maxims  of  Lady  Dee — one  which 
she  had  been  too  young  to  understand,  but  had 
been  made  to  learn  nevertheless:  "The  young 
girl's  deadliest  enemy  is  the  married  flirt!" 
Could  it  be  that  Mrs.  Winthrop  was  anything 
so  desperate  as  that? 

"Mr.  van  Tuiver  is  one  of  these  poets?"  she 
asked,  finally. 

"I  don't  think  van  Tuiver  goes  in  for  poetry; 
but  he's  strong  on  manners  and  things  like  that, 
and  he  says  that  Mrs.  Winthrop  is  the  only  hostess 


228  SYLVIA 

in  America  who  has  the  old-world  charm.  Of 
course  that  ravished  her,  and  they've  been  great 
chums." 

"And  I  came  and  spoiled  it  all!"  exclaimed  the 
girl. 

"You  came  and  spoiled  it  all!"  said  Bates. 

Sylvia  sat  for  a  while  hi  thought.  "You  know, 
Mr.  Bates,"  she  remarked,  "it  rather  puzzles 
me  that  people  consider  Mr.  van  Tuiver  as  having 
distinguished  manners.  I  really  haven't  been 
impressed  that  way." 

The  other  laughed.  "My  dear  Miss  Castle- 
man,  don't  you  know  that  van  Tuiver's  in  love 
with  you!" 

"No!  Surely  not!" 

"Perfectly  head  over  heels  hi  love  with  you. 
He's  been  that  way  since  the  first  moment  he 
laid  eyes  on  you.  And  the  way  you've  treated 
him — you  know  you  are  rather  high-handed. 
Anyhow,  it's  rattled  him  so,  he  simply  doesn't 
know  whether  he's  on  his  head  or  his  feet." 

"Did  he  tell  you  that,  Mr.  Bates?" 

"Not  hi  words — but  by  everything  about  him. 
I  never  saw  a  man  so  changed.  Honestly,  you 
don't  know  him  at  all,  as  we've  known  him. 
You'd  not  believe  it  if  I  described  him." 

"Tell  me  what  you  mean?" 

"Well,  hi  the  first  place,  he's  always  dignified — 
stately,  even.  When  he  speaks,  it's  he  speaking, 
and  his  Yea  is  Yea  and  his  Nay  is  Nay.  Then 
he's  very  precise — he  never  does  anything  upon 
impulse,  but  always  considers  whether  it's  the 


SYLVIA  LINGERS 


right  thing  for  Douglas  van  Tuiver  to  do.  You 
see,  he  has  an  acute  consciousness  of  his  social 
task  —  I  mean,  being  a  model  to  all  the  little 
people  in  the  world.  You  wouldn't  understand 
his  manners  unless  you  realized  that  they're 
imported  from  England.  In  England  —  have  you 
ever  been  there?" 

"No,"  said  Sylvia. 

"Well,  you're  walking  along  a  country  road, 
and  you're  lost,  and  you  see  a  gentleman  coming 
the  other  way.  You  stop  and  begin,  'I  beg  par 
don'  —  and  he  goes  by  you  with  his  eyes  to  the 
front,  military  fashion.  You  see,  you're  not 
supposed  to  exist." 

"How  perfectly  dreadful!" 

"I  remember  once  I  was  walking  in  the  country, 
and  there  came  a  carriage  with  two  ladies  in  it. 
It  stopped  as  I  passed,  and  so  I  stopped.  'Can 
you  tell  me  where  such  and  such  a  house  is?'  she 
asked,  and  I  replied  that  it  was  in  such  and  such 
a  direction.  And  then,  without  even  a  look, 
she  sank  back  in  her  cushions,  and  the  coachman 
drove  on.  She  was  a  lady,  and  she  thought  it 
was  a  grand  carelessness." 

"Oh,  but  surely  she  must  have  belonged  to 
the  'nouveaux  riches7!"  exclaimed  Sylvia. 

"On  the  contrary,  she  may  have  had  the  best 
blood  in  England.  You  see,  that's  their  system. 
They  have  a  ruling  caste,  whose  rudeness  is  their 
religion." 

"We  have  our  family  pride  in  the  South," 
said  Sylvia,  "but  it's  supposed  to  show  itself  in 


230  SYLVIA 

a  superior  courtesy.  In  fact,  if  a  person's  rude 
to  his  inferiors,  we're  sure  there  must  be  plebeian 
blood  somewhere." 

"Exactly,  Miss  Castleman — that's  what  I've 
always  been  taught."  There  was  a  pause;  then 
suddenly  Bates  began  to  laugh.  "They  tell 
such  a  funny  story  about  van  Tuiver,"  he  went 
on.  "It  was  a  club-tea,  and  there  were  two 
ladies  whom  everybody  knew  to  be  social  rivals. 
Van  Tuiver  was  talking  to  Mrs.  A.  and  suddenly, 
without  any  warning,  he  walked  over  and  began 
to  talk  to  Mrs.  B.  Afterwards  somebody  said  to 
him,  'Why  did  you  leave  Mrs.  A.  and  go  directly 
to  Mrs.  B.?  You  know  they  hate  each  other — 
did  you  want  to  make  it  worse?'  'No,  I  never 
thought  of  it,'  he  said.  'The  point  was,  there 
was  a  fireplace  at  my  back,  and  I  don't  like  a 
fireplace  at  my  back/  'But  did  you  tell  that  to 
Mrs.  A?'  asked  the  friend.  'No,'  said  van  Tuiver 
—'I  told  it  to  Mrs.  B.'  " 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  cried  Sylvia. 

"And  you  must  understand  that  he  saw  nothing 
funny  in  it.  And  the  significant  thing  is  that  he 
gets  away  with  that  pose!" 

"In  other  words,  he  has  introduced  the  English 
system  into  America,"  said  Sylvia. 

"That's  what  it  comes  to,  Miss  Castleman." 

"You  have  a  king  at  Harvard!" 

The  man  hesitated,  and  then  a  smile  spread 
over  his  face.  "Of  course  you  realize,"  he  said, 
"that  it's  a  game  we're  playing." 

"A  game?"  she  repeated. 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  231 

"Do  you  know  they  had  a  queen  in  New 
York,  Miss  Castleman — until  she  died,  just  re 
cently?  You  came  to  the  city,  you  intrigued  and 
pulled  wires,  and  perhaps  she  condescended  to 
receive  you — seated  upon  a  regular  throne  of 
state,  painted  and  covered  with  jewels  like  a 
Hindoo  idol.  Everybody  agreed  she  was  the 
queen,  and  nobody  could  go  anywhere  or  do 
anything  unless  she  said  so.  Only,  of  course, 
ninety-nine  people  out  of  a  hundred  paid  no 
attention  to  her,  and  went  ahead  and  lived  their 
lives  just  as  if  she  weren't  queen.  And  it's  the 
same  way  here." 

"Tubby"  paused  for  encouragement;  this  was 
unusual  eloquence  for  him. 

"As  to  our  king,"  he  continued,  "one-eighth 
of  the  college  pays  him  homage,  and  another 
eighth  rebels  against  him — and  the  other  three- 
quarters  don't  know  that  he's  here.  They're 
busy  cramming  for  exams,  or  training  for  the 
boat-race,  or  having  a  good  time  spending  papa's 
money.  In  other  words,  Miss  Castleman,  van 
Tuiver  is  our  king  when  we  are  snobs;  and  some 
of  us  are  snobs  all  the  tune,  and  others  of  us  only 
when  we  go  calling  on  the  ladies.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"I  understand,"  said  Sylvia,  intensely  amused. 
"I  suspect  that  you  are  one  of  the  rebellious  sub 
jects.  You  are  certainly  a  frank  ambassador, 
Mr.  Bates!" 

It  was  his  turn  to  laugh.  "The  truth  is, 
van  Tuiver's  been  three  years  posing  in  a  certain 


232  SYLVIA 

role,  and  he  can't  turn  round  now  and  play  a 
different  one  for  you.  I  thought  it  over  as  I  was 
coming  here,  and  I  said  to  myself,  'I'll  ask  her 
to  see  him,  but  I'll  be  damned' — pardon  me,  but 
that's  what  I  said — 'I'll  be  damned  if  111  help 
him  to  deceive  her.'  You  see,  Miss  Castleman — 
I  hope  I  don't  presume — but  I  know  van  Tuiver's 
hi  love  with  you,  and  I  thought — well — I " 

The  genial  "Tubby"  had  turned  several  shades 
redder,  and  now  he  fell  silent.  "You  may  feel 
quite  at  tase,  Mr.  Bates,"  smiled  Sylvia.  "The 
danger  you  fear  does  not  exist  at  all." 

"Not  by  any  possibility,  Miss  Castleman?" 

"Not  by  any  possibility,  Mr.  Bates. 

"He — he  has  an  enormous  lot  of  money!" 

"After  all  our  conversation!  There  are  surely 
a  few  things  hi  America  which  are  not  for  sale." 

"Tubby"  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  "I 
was  scared,"  he  said — "honest." 

"How  lovely  of  you!"  said  Sylvia.  She  sud 
denly  felt  like  a  mother  to  this  big  fat  boy  who 
was  said  to  have  no  soul. 

"I  said  to  myself,"  he  continued,  "'I'll  tell  her 
the  truth  about  van  Tuiver,  even  if  she  never 
forgives  me  for  it.'  You  see,  Miss  Castleman, 
I  see  the  real  man — as  you'd  never  be  allowed 
to,  not  in  a  thousand  years.  And  you  must  take 
my  word  and  be  careful,  for  van  Tuiver's  a  man 
who  has  never  had  to  do  without  anything  hi 
his  whole  lifetime.  No  matter  what  it's  been 
that  he's  wanted,  he's  had  it — always,  always! 
I've  seen  one  or  two  times  when  it  looked  as  if 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  233 

he  mightn't  get  it — and  I  can  tell  you  that  he's 
cunning,  and  that  he  persists  and  persists — he's 
a  perfect  demon  when  he's  got  his  mind  fixed  on 
something  he  wants  and  hasn't  got." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Sylvia.  "That  is  a  new  view 
of  him!" 

"Well,  I  said  I'd  warn  you.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind." 

Sylvia  smiled.  "I  thought  you  had  set  out 
to  persuade  me  to  see  him  again!" 

Bates  watched  her.  "I  don't  know,"  he  said, 
"maybe  mine  was  the  best  way  to  persuade  you." 

"Why,  how  charming!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
laugh.  "You  are  really  subtle." 

"We  want  to  fight  the  introduction  of  the 
English  system,  Miss  Castleman!  I  don't  mind 
an  aristocracy,  because  I'm  one  of  'em;  but 
I  don't  want  any  kings  in  America!  It's  a 
patriotic  duty  to  pull  them  off  their  thrones  and 
keep  them  off." 

Sylvia  pondered.  It  was  a  most  entertaining 
view.  "And  the  queens  too?"  she  laughed. 

"Yes,  and  the  queens  too!" 

There  was  a  pause,  while  she  thought.  Then 
she  said,  "Yes,  I  think  you're  right,  Mr.  Bates. 
You  may  tell  His  Majesty  that  I'll  see  him— 
once  more!" 

§  16 

SYLVIA  had  said  that  she  would  go  motoring 
with  van  Tuiver  the  following  afternoon.  He 


234  SYLVIA 

came  in  a  cab,  explaining  that  he  had  been  to 
dinner  in  Cambridge,  and  that  his  car  had  run 
out  of  fuel.  "I've  a  chauffeur  who  is  troubled 
with  absent-mindedness,"  he  remarked,  with  what 
Sylvia  soon  realized  was  enforced  good-nature. 
For  the  car  was  longer  hi  coming  than  he  expected, 
and  when  at  last  it  arrived,  she  was  given  an 
exhibition  of  his  system  of  manners  as  applied  to 
servants. 

The  chauffeur  tried  to  make  some  explanation. 
There  had  been  an  accident,  which  he  wanted 
to  tell  of;  but  the  other  would  not  give  him  a 
chance.  "I've  not  the  least  desire  to  listen  to 
you,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  employ  you  to  make 
excuses.  I  told  you  when  you  came  to  me  that 
I  required  promptness  from  my  servants.  You 
have  had  your  opportunity,  and  you  are  not  equal 
to  it.  You  may  consider  yourself  under  notice." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  the  man;  and  Sylvia 
stepped  into  the  car  and  sat  thinking,  not  hearing 
what  van  Tuiver  said  to  her. 

It  was  not  the  words  he  had  used;  he  had  a 
right  to  give  his  chauffeur  notice,  she  told  herself. 
It  was  his  tone  which  had  struck  her  like  a  knife 
—a  tone  of  insolence,  of  deliberate  provocative- 
ness.  Yet  he,  apparently,  had  no  idea  that  she 
would  notice  it;  doubtless  he  would  think  it 
meant  a  lack  of  breeding  in  her  to  notice  it. 

She  wished  to  do  justice  to  him;  and  she  knew 
that  it  was  partly  her  Southern  shrinking  from 
the  idea  of  white  servants.  She  was  used  to 
negroes,  about  whose  feelings  one  did  not  bother. 


SYLVIA   LINGERS  235 

If  Aunt  Nannie  discovered  one  of  the  chamber 
maids  trying  on  her  mistress'  ball  gown,  it  would 
be,  "Get  out  of  here,  you  bob-tailed  monkey!" 
Or  if  Uncle  Mandeville's  boy  forgot  to  feed  a 
favorite  horse,  the  rascal  would  be  dragged  out 
by  one  ear  and  soundly  caned — and  would  expect 
it,  knowing  that  if  it  was  never  done  the  horse 
would  never  be  fed.  But  to  talk  so  to  a  white 
man — and  not  in  a  blaze  of  anger,  but  with  cold 
and  concentrated  malevolence! 

The  purpose  of  this  ride  was  a  definite  one — 
that  van  Tuiver  might  find  out  the  meaning  of 
Sylvia's  change  of  mind  at  the  dance.  He  pro 
pounded  the  question  very  soon;  and  the  girl 
had  to  try  to  explain  the  state  of  mind  in  which 
she  found  herself.  She  would  begin,  she  said,  with 
the  situation  she  had  found  at  Harvard.  Here 
were  two  groups  of  men,  working  for  different 
ends,  one  desiring  democracy  in  college  life,  and 
the  other  wishing  to  preserve  the  old  spirit  of 
caste.  The  conflict  between  them  had  become 
intense,  and  Sylvia's  sympathies  were  with  van 
Tuiver's  opponents. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "what  has  Harvard  meant 
to  you?  What  has  it  given  you  that  you  couldn't 
have  got  elsewhere?  Here  are  men  from  all  over 
America,  but  you've  only  met  one  little  set. 
All  the  others — whom  you're  probably  too  refined 
to  call  'rough-necks' — could  none  of  them  have 
taught  you  anything?" 

"Perhaps  they  could,"  he  answered,  "but  it's 
not  easy  to  know  them.  If  I  met  people  promis- 


236  SYLVIA 

cuously,  they'd  presume  upon  the  acquaintance. 
I'd  have  no  time  to  myself,  no  privacy " 

He  saw  the  scorn  in  Sylvia's  face.  "That's  all 
very  well,"  he  cried,  "but  you  simply  don't  realize! 
Take  your  own  case — do  you  meet  anybody  who 
comes  along?" 

"I  am  a  girl,"  said  Sylvia.  "People  seem  to 
think  it's  necessary  to  protect  girls.  But  even 
so,  I  remember  experiences  that  you  might  profit 
by.  I  went  last  year  to  our  State  University, 
where  one  of  my  cousins  was  graduating.  At 
one  of  the  dances  I  was  accidentally  introduced  to 
a  man,  a  decent  fellow,  whom  I  liked.  'I  won't 
ask  you  to  dance  with  me,  Miss  Castleman,'  he 
said.  I  asked,  'Why  not?'  and  he  said,  'I'm  a 
"goat"/  I  said,  Til  dance  with  a  goat,  if  he's 
a  good  dancer,'  and  so  we  danced.  And  then 
came  my  cousin.  'Sylvia,  don't  you  know  who 
the  man  is  you  were  dancing  with?  He's  a 
"goat"!'  'I  like  him,'  I  said,  'and  he  dances  as 
well  as  any  of  you.  I  shall  dance  with  him.' 
'But,  Miss  Castleman/  they  all  said,  'you'll 
break  up  the  fraternity  system  in  the  college.' 
'What  strange  fraternity!'  I  answered.  'I  think 
it  needs  breaking  up.  I'll  dance  with  him,  and 
if  anybody  doesn't  like  it,  I  won't  dance  with 
him.1  So  I  had  my  way." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  other.  "If  a  pretty 
girl  chooses  to  have  her  whim,  everybody  can 
allow  for  it.  But  if  you  set  to  work  to  run  a 
college  on  that  basis,  you'd  abolish  social  life 
there.  Men  of  a  certain  class  would  simply  not 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  237 

go  where  they  had  undesirable  companionship 
forced  upon  them.  Is  that  what  you  want  to 
bring  about?" 

Sylvia  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  coun 
tered,  "Is  the  only  way  you  can  think  of  to 
avoid  undesirable  companionship  to  have  a  private 
house?" 

"A  house?"  replied  van  Tuiver.  "Lots  of 
people  live  in  houses.  Doesn't  your  father?" 

"My  father  has  a  family,"  said  Sylvia.  "You 
have  no  one  but  yourself — and  you  don't  have 
the  house  because  you  need  it,  but  simply  for 
ostentation." 

He  was  very  patient.  "My  dear  Miss  Castle- 
man,"  he  said,  "it  happens  that  I  was  raised  in 
a  house,  and  I'm  used  to  it.  And  I  happen  to 
have  the  money — why  shouldn't  I  spend  it?" 

"You  might  spend  it  for  the  good  of  others." 

"You  mean  in  charity?  Haven't  you  learned 
that  charity  never  does  any  good?" 

"Sometimes  I  wish  that  I  were  a  man,  so  that 
I  could  understand  these  things,"  exclaimed  Sylvia. 
"But  surely  you  might  find  some  way  of  doing 
good  with  your  money,  instead  of  only  harm,  as 
at  present." 

"Only  harm,  Miss  Castleman?" 

"You  are  spending  your  money  setting  up 
false  ideals  in  your  college.  You  are  doing  all 
in  your  power  to  make  everyone  who  meets  you, 
or  sees  you,  or  even  knows  of  you,  a  toady  or 
else  an  Anarchist.  And  at  the  same  tune  you 
are  killing  the  best  things  in  the  college." 


238  SYLVIA 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"There  is  Memorial  Hall — a  building  that 
stands  for  something.  I  can  see  that,  even  if  all 
my  people  were  on  the  other  side  in  the  war. 
There  you  find  the  democracy  of  the  college,  the 
spirit  of  real  comradeship.  But  did  you  ever 
eat  a  meal  in  Memorial  Hall?" 

"No,"  said  he,  "I  never  did." 

Sylvia  thought  for  a  moment.  "Do  ladies 
eat  there?"  she  asked;  and  when  he  answered 
in  the  negative,  she  laughed.  "Of  course,  that 
was  only  a  'pretty  girl's  whim' — as  you  call  it. 
But  if  you,  Douglas  van  Tuiver,  would  go  there, 
as  a  matter  of  course — right  along,  I  mean " 

"Eat  at  Memorial  Hall!"  he  exclaimed.  "My 
dear  Miss  Castleman,  I  wouldn't  eat — I'd  be 
eaten!" 

"In  other  words,"  said  she,  coldly,  "you  admit 
that  you  can't  take  care  of  yourself  as  a  man 
among  men." 

It  was  amusing  to  perceive  his  dismay  over 
her  idea.  He  came  back  to  it,  after  a  minute. 
He  wanted  to  know  if  that  was  the  sort  of  thing 
he'd  have  to  do  to  win  her  regard;  and  he  repeated 
the  phrase  with  a  sort  of  fascinated  horror.  "Eat 
at  Memorial  Hall!" 

Until  at  last  Sylvia  declared  with  asperity, 
"Mr.  van  Tuiver,  I  don't  care  whether  you  eat 
at  all,  until  you've  found  something  better  to  do 
with  your  life." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  239 

§  17 

HE  took  these  rages  of  hers  very  humbly.  He 
was  becoming  extraordinarily  tame.  "I  suppose 
you  find  me  exasperating,"  he  said,  "but  you 
must  realize  that  I'm  trying  my  best  to  under 
stand  you.  You  want  me  to  make  my  life  all 
over,  and  it  isn't  easy  for  me  to  see  the  necessity 
of  it.  What  harm  do  I  do  here,  just  by  keeping 
to  myself?" 

Sylvia  was  touched  by  his  tone,  and  she  tried 
again  to  explain.  "It  isn't  that  you  keep  to 
yourself,"  she  said.  "You  cultivate  a  contempt 
for  your  classmates,  and  they  reply  with  hatred 
and  envy,  and  so  you  break  up  college  life.  It's 
true,  isn't  it,  that  there's  a  struggle  going  on  now?" 

"The  class  elections,  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  mean.  So  much  bitter 
ness  and  intriguing,  because  you  keep  to  yourself! 
Why  do  you  come  to  college  at  all?  Surely  you 
won't  say  it's  the  professors  and  the  studies!" 

"No,"  said  he,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"You  come,  and  you  make  yourself  into  a  kind 
of  idol.  Excuse  me,  if  it  isn't  polite,  but  what 
I  said  the  other  night  is  the  truth — the  Golden 
Calf!  And  what  I  say  is,  try  the  other  plan  a 
while.  Stop  thinking  about  yourself,  and  what 
they  are  thinking  about  you — above  all,  what 
they  are  thinking  about  your  money.  They 
won't  all  be  thinking  about  your  money." 

He  did  not  answer  promptly.  "Apparently," 
she  said,  "you  don't  feel  quite  sure.  If  you 


240  SYLVIA 

can't,  I  know  several  real  men  that  I  could 
introduce  you  to — men  right  in  your  own 
class." 

"Who  are  they?" 

She  hesitated.  She  was  about  to  say  Frank 
Shirley,  but  concluded  not  to.  "I  met  one  the 
other  day — he  doesn't  belong  to  a  club,  yet  he's 
the  most  interesting  person  I've  encountered 
here.  He  talked  about  you,  and  he  wasn't  com 
plimentary;  but  if  you  sought  him  out  in  the 
right  way,  and  made  it  clear  you  weren't  trying 
to  patronize  him,  I'm  sure  he'd  be  a  friend." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Mr.  Firmin." 

"Oh!"  said  van  Tuiver,  and  looked  annoyed. 

"You  know  him?" 

"By  sight.     He  has  a  bitter  tongue." 

"No  more  bitter  than  you  need,  Mr.  van  Tuiver 
— it  you  are  going  to  hear  the  truth  about  your 
self." 

The  other  hesitated.  "I  really  do  want  to 
win  your  regard — "  he  began. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  to  win  my 
regard !  If  you  do  these  things,  it  must  be  because 
you  want  to  do  them.  At  present  you're  just 
your  money,  your  position — your  Royalty,  as  I've 
come  to  call  it.  But  I'm  not  the  least  bit  con 
cerned  about  your  Royalty;  your  houses  and  your 
servants  and  your  automobiles  are  a  bore  to  me 
— worse  than  that,  they're  wicked,  for  no  man 
has  a  right  to  spend  so  much  money  on  himself, 
to  have  a  whole  house  to  himself ." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  £41 

"Please,"  he  pleaded,  "stop  scolding  about  my 
house.  I  couldn't  change  now,  for  it's  only  a 
couple  of  weeks  to  Commencement." 

"It  would  have  all  the  more  effect,"  she  de 
clared,  "if  you  moved  into  a  dormitory  now. 
Here  are  the  class  elections,  and  your  class  split 
up " 

"You  don't  realize  my  position,"  he  inter 
rupted.  "It's  not  merely  a  question  of  what 
I  want.  There's  Ridgely  Shackleford,  our  candi 
date  for  class  president;  if  I  deserted  him  and 
went  over  to  the  'Yard,'  they'd  say  I  was  a 
traitor,  a  coward — worse  than  that,  they'd  say 
I  was  a  fool!  I  wouldn't  have  a  friend  left  in 
the  college." 

"You  really  think  it  would  be  so  bad?" 

"It  would  be  worse.  I  haven't  told  you  half. 
When  the  story  got  about,  I'd  become  a  booby 
in  society;  I'd  have  to  give  up  my  clubs,  I'd  be 
a  complete  outcast.  I  tell  you,  you  simply  can't 
break  down  the  barriers  of  your  class." 

Sylvia  sat  in  silence,  pondering  his  words. 
Suddenly  she  became  aware  that  he  was  gazing 
at  her  eagerly.  "Miss  Castleman,"  he  began, 
his  voice  trembling  slightly,  "what  I  want  above 
all  else  is  your  friendship.  I'd  do  anything  to 
win  it — I'd  give  up  anything  in  the  world.  I 
have  a  regard  for  you — a  most  intense  admiration. 
If  I  knew  it  would  make  me  mean  something  to 
you — why  then,  I'd  be  willing  to  go  to  any 
extreme,  to  defy  everybody  else.  But  suppose 
I  do  this,  and  I'm  left  all  alone " 

16 


242  SYLVIA 

"If  you  did  this  you'd  have  new  friends — real 
friends." 

"But  the  friend  I  want  is  you!" 

Sylvia  answered,  "If  you  did  what  was  right 
because  it  was  right,  if  you  showed  yourself 
willing  to  dare  something  for  the  sake  of  prin 
ciple — why  then,  right  away  you'd  become  worth 
while.  You'd  not  have  to  ask  for  my  friendship." 

He    hesitated.       "Suppose — suppose    that    I 

should   find  that  I   wanted   more    than   friend 
ship » 

She  had  been  prepared  for  that — and  she  stopped 
him  instantly.  "Friendship  comes  first,"  she 
said. 

"But,"  he  pleaded,  "give  me  some  idea.  Could 
I  not  expect " 

"You  asked  me  to  be  a  friend  to  you,  to  help 
you  by  telling  you  the  truth.  That  is  what  we 
have  been  discussing.  Pray  let  there  be  no 
mistake  about  it.  Friendship  comes  first." 

Why  did  Sylvia  take  such  a  course  with  him? 
You  would  have  a  false  idea  of  her  character  if 
you  did  not  realize  that  it  was  the  first  tune  she 
had  ever  done  such  a  thing — and  that  it  was  a 
hard  thing  for  her  to  do.  To  refuse  to  let  a  man 
propose  to  her!  To  forbear  to  draw  him  on,  to 
investigate  him,  to  see  what  he  would  reply  to 
various  baffling  remarks! 

It  was  not  because  she  was  engaged  to  Frank 
Shirley.  Under  the  code  which  Lady  Dee  had 
taught  her  that  made  simply  no  difference  what 
ever.  Under  that  code  it  was  her  duty  to  secure 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  243 

every  man  who  came  into  her  reach;  she  might 
remain  uncertain  in  her  own  mind,  she  might 
continue  to  explore  and  experiment  up  to  the 
very  moment  when  the  wedding  ring  was  slipped 
upon  her  finger.  Sylvia  had  never  forgotten 
Aunt  Lady's  vivid  image:  "Stand  them  up  in 
a  line,  my  child,  and  when  you  get  ready,  walk 
down  the  line  and  pick  the  one  you  want!" 

She  had  set  up  a  barrier  before  van  Tuiver, 
and  he  pushed  against  it.  The  more  firm  she 
made  it,  the  more  he  was  moved  to  push.  But 
suppose  she  gave  way  the  least  little  bit,  suppose 
he  felt  the  barrier  breaking — then  would  he  not 
stop  pushing,  would  he  not  shrink  away?  What 
fun  to  try  him,  to  watch  him  hesitating,  advanc 
ing  and  retreating,  trembling  with  desire  and 
with  terror!  To  analyze  the  mixture  of  his  long 
ing  and  his  caution,  to  add  a  little  to  the  one  or 
the  other,  and  then  see  the  result.  Sylvia  with 
a  new  man  was  like  a  chemist's  assistant,  mixing 
strange  liquids  in  a  test-tube,  possessed  with  a 
craze  to  know  whether  the  precipitate  would  be 
red  or  green  or  yellow — and  quite  undeterred  by 
the  possibility  of  being  blown  through  the  sky 
light. 

But  tempting  as  was  the  game,  she  could  not 
play  it  with  Douglas  van  Tuiver.  It  was  as  if 
an  angel  stood  between  them  with  a  flaming 
sword.  Douglas  van  Tuiver  was  no  subject  for 
joke,  he  was  not  a  man  as  other  men — he  was 
Royalty.  With  Royalty  one  must  be  stern  and 
unfaltering.  "Friendship  comes  first,"  she  had 


244  SYLVIA 

said;  and  though  before  that  ride  was  over  he 
had  come  again  and  again  to  the  barrier,  he  never 
broke  past  it,  nor  felt  any  sign  of  its  yielding  to 
his  touch. 


§  18 

SYLVIA  was  making  her  plans  to  leave  in  a  couple 
of  days.  It  was  close  to  Commencement,  and  she 
would  have  liked  to  stay,  but  there  had  come  a 
disturbing  letter  from  home — the  Major  was  not 
well,  and  there  had  been  an  overflow,  entailing 
serious  damage  to  the  crops  and  still  more  serious 
cares.  At  such  a  time  the  family  reached  out 
blindly  to  Sylvia — no  matter  what  was  going 
wrong,  they  were  sure  it  would  go  right  if  she 
were  present. 

And  besides,  her  work  at  Harvard  was  done. 
This  was  duly  certified  to  by  Harley,  who  came 
to  see  her  the  next  morning,  in  such  a  state  of 
bliss  as  is  not  often  vouchsafed  to  Freshmen. 
"It's  all  right,  old  girl,"  he  said,  "you  can  go 
whenever  you  get  ready.  You  surely  are  a  witch, 
Sylvia!" 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked. 

"I  had  a  call  from  Douglas  van  Ttdver  last 
night." 

"You  don't  mean  it,  Harley!" 

"Yes.    Did  you  ask  him  to  do  it?" 

"I  should  think  I  did  not!" 

"Well,  whatever  the  reason  was,  he  was  as 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  245 

nice  as  could  be.  Said  he  was  interested  in  me, 
and  that  he'd  back  me  for  one  of  the  earlier  tens." 

"How  perfectly  contemptible  of  him !"  exclaimed 
Sylvia. 

Needless  to  say,  this  was  a  turn  not  expected 
by  Harley.  "See  here,"  he  protested,  "it  seems 
to  me  you're  taking  a  little  too  high  a  line  with 
van  Tuiver.  There's  really  no  need  to  go  so 
far " 

"Now  please,"  said  Sylvia,  "don't  concern 
yourself  with  that.  I  came  up  here  to  help  you, 
and  I've  done  it,  and  that's  all  you  can  ask." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  sulky 
pause.  Finally,  however,  the  sun  of  his  delight 
broke  through  the  clouds  again.  "Say,  Sylvia!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  know,  the  whole  college 
is  talking  about  what  happened  at  that  dance. 
Tell  me,  honestly — did  you  know  anything  about 
what  they  meant  to  do?" 

"I  think  that's  a  question  you'd  know  better 
than  to  ask,  Harley." 

"I  was  ready  to  knock  a  fellow  down  because 
he  hinted  it.  But  Bates  is  square — he  takes  it 
all  on  himself.  They  say  Mrs.  Winthrop  will 
never  forgive  him." 

Sylvia  pondered.  "Won't  it  make  Edith  angry 
with  you?"  she  asked. 

"I'll  keep  away  from  her  for  a  few  days," 
laughed  Harley.  "If  I  get  my  social  position 
established,  she'll  get  over  her  anger,  never  fear. 
By  the  way,  would  you  like  to  know  what  Edith 
thinks  about  you?" 


246  SYLVIA 

"Why— did  she  tell  you?" 

"No,  but  there's  a  chap  in  my  class  who  knows 
her.  He  told  me  what  she  said — only  of  course 
one  can't  be  sure." 

"Tell  me  what  it  was,"  said  Sylvia,  "and  I'll 
know  if  she  said  it." 

"That  you  were  shallow;  that  with  the  arts 
you  used  any  woman  could  snare  a  man.  But 
she  would  scorn  to  use  them." 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  other,  "she  said  it." 

"Are  you  really  as  bad  as  that?"  asked  Harley. 
"What  arts  does  she  mean?" 

"This  is  a  woman's  affair,  Harley.  What  else 
did  she  say?" 

"She  said  her  mother  was  disappointed  in  you. 
She  thought  you  had  a  beautiful  soul,  but  you'd 
let  it  be  spoiled  by  flattery.  She  said  you  had 
no  real  understanding  of  a  character  like  van 
Tuiver,  or  the  responsibilities  of  his  position." 

Sylvia  said  nothing,  but  sat  considering  the 
matter.  She  had  no  philosophy  about  these 
affairs;  she  was  following  her  instincts,  and  some 
times  she  was  assailed  by  doubts  and  troubled  by 
new  points  of  view.  She  was  surprised  to  realize 
how  very  revolutionary  a  standpoint  she  had 
come  to  take  in  the  matter  of  Mrs.  Winthrop's 
favorite.  Why  should  she,  Sylvia  Castleman,  a 
descendant  of  Lady  Lysle,  be  trying  to  pull  down 
the  pillars  of  the  social  temple? 

That  was  still  her  mood  when,  after  Harley's 
departure,  the  telephone  rang  and  she  found  her 
self  voice  to  voice  with  "Queen  Isabella."  "Won't 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  247 

you  come  and  have  luncheon  with  me,  Sylvia?" 
asked  the  latter.  "I've  sent  Edith  away,  so  that 
we  can  be  to  ourselves.  I  want  to  have  a  long 
talk  with  you."  And  Sylvia,  in  a  penitent  state, 
answered  that  she  would  come. 


§  19 

SHE  chose  for  this  visit  one  of  her  simplest 
costumes — a  white  muslin,  with  pale  green  sprigs 
in  it,  and  a  pale  green  toque  of  a  most  alluringly 
Quakerish  effect.  A  poet  had  designed  it  for  her 
— one  of  her  victims  at  the  State  University — 
and  had  specified  that  she  must  never  wear  it 
without  a  prayer-book  in  her  hand.  In  this  cos 
tume  she  sat  in  Mrs.  Winthrop's  sombre  paneled 
dining-room,  with  generations  of  sombre  Puritan 
governors  staring  down  from  the  walls  at  her; 
while  the  strange  white  servants  stole  noiselessly 
about  on  the  velvet  carpets,  she  gazed  with  wide, 
innocent  eyes,  and  listened  to  her  hostess'  deli 
cately-worded  sermon. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  appreciated  the  symbolism  of 
the  costume,  and  used  it  in  making  a  cautious 
approach  to  her  subject.  She  said  that  Sylvia 
had  wonderful  gifts  of  beauty — not  merely  of 
the  person,  but  of  taste  and  understanding. 
Women  so  favored  owed  a  great  debt  to  life, 
and  must  needs  feel  keenly  the  desire  to  make 
recompense  for  their  privileges.  That,  said  Mrs. 


248  SYLVIA 

Winthrop,  was  something  always  present  in  her 
own  thoughts.  How  could  she  pay  for  her 
existence?  It  was  fatally  easy  to  fall  into  the 
point  of  view  of  those  who  rebelled  against  social 
conditions,  and  justified  the  discontent  of  the 
poor.  "You  know,  we  have  such  people  even  in 
Boston,"  she  explained,  "and  they  win  a  good 
deal  of  sympathy.  But  there  is  a  deeper  and 
saner  view,  it  seems  to  me.  Life  must  have  its 
graces,  its  embellishments;  there  must  be  those 
who  embody  a  higher  ideal  than  mere  animal 
comfort.  I  think  we  should  take  our  stand  there 
— we  should  justify  ourselves,  having  the  con 
sciousness  of  a  mission  in  preserving  the  allure 
ments  and  amenities  of  life.  People  talk  about 
the  poor  shop-girls,  and  how  hard  they  have  to 
work;  they  seem  to  desire  that  one  should  give 
up  one's  ease,  one's  culture,  and  go  and  join  the 
shop-girls.  But  I  say,  No,  I  am  not  to  be  seduced 
by  such  arguments.  I  am  something  in  the  lives 
of  those  shop-girls,  something  definite,  something 
vital;  I  am  to  them  an  uplifting  vision,  an  ideal 
of  grace  and  dignity.  When  one  goes  among 
the  lower  classes  and  sees  the  brutality,  the  sordid 
animalism  of  their  lives — oh,  it  is  terrifying! 
One  flies  back  to  the  world  of  refinement  and 
serenity  as  to  a  city  of  refuge." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  paused.  Her  beautiful  eyes  had 
talked  with  her;  they  had  gazed  terrified  into 
social  abysses,  and  now  they  came  back  to  regions 
of  brooding  calm.  Sylvia  was  under  their  spell, 
and  was  not  conscious  of  any  extravagance  in 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  249 

the  lady's  next  utterance:  "Speaking  with  a  deep 
conviction,  I  say  that  I  am  something  necessary 
to  life,  that  the  world  could  not  get  on  without 
me.  I  say,  I  am  Beauty,  I  am  Art!  Have  you 
ever  felt  that,  Sylvia?" 

"I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  such  things, 
Mrs.  Winthrop.  But  as  a  rule,  I  only  manage  to 
bewilder  myself  and  make  myself  unhappy. 
There  is  so  much  terrible  suffering  in  the  world!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  other.  "How  many  times  I 
find  myself  asking,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  'How 
can  you  be  happy,  while  all  around  you  the  world 
is  dying?  Go,  bow  your  head  with  shame,  because 
you  have  been  happy!' '  And  sure  enough, 
Mrs.  Winthrop  bowed  her  head,  and  two  glisten 
ing,  pearly  tears  trickled  slowly  from  her  eyes. 
"It  is  a  faith  I  have  had  to  fight  for,"  she  con 
tinued,  "something  I  feel  most  earnestly  about. 
For  we  live  in  times  when,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
civilization  is  threatened  by  the  terrible  forces 
of  materialism — by  the  blind  greed  of  the  masses 
especially.  And  I  think  that  we  who  have  the 
task  of  keeping  alive  the  flame  of  beauty  ought 
to  be  aware  of  our  mission,  and  to  support  one 
another." 

Sylvia  thought  that  this  was  the  point  of  ap 
proach  to  the  real  subject;  but  she  said  nothing, 
and  Mrs.  Winthrop  veered  off  again.  "I  have 
always  been  especially  interested  hi  University 
life,"  she  said.  "My  father  was  a  University 
professor,  and  I  was  brought  up  in  a  University 
town.  After  I  was  married  and  found  that  I  had 


250  SYLVIA 

leisure  and  opportunity,  I  said  to  myself  that  it 
would  be  my  task  in  life  to  do  what  I  could  to 
influence  young  men  during  their  student  years, 
by  teaching  them  generous  ideals,  and  above 
all  by  giving  them  a  model  of  a  dignified  and 
gracious  social  life.  It  is  in  these  years,  you  see, 
that  the  tastes  of  young  men  are  formed;  after 
wards  they  go  out  to  set  an  example  to  the  rest 
of  the  world.  More  than  any  university,  I  think, 
Harvard  is  our  source  of  culture  and  idealism; 
our  crude  Western  colleges  look  to  its  graduates 
for  teachers,  and  to  its  standards  for  their  models. 
So  you  see  it  is  really  no  little  thing  to  feel  that 
you  are  helping  to  guide  and  shape  the  social  life 
of  Harvard." 

"I  can  understand  that,"  said  Sylvia,  much 
impressed. 

"You  come  from  another  part  of  our  country," 
continued  Mrs.  Winthrop — "a  part  which  has 
its  own  lovely  culture.  Whether  you  have  ever 
realized  it  consciously  or  not,  I  am  sure  that 
ideas  such  as  these  must  have  been  often  impressed 
upon  you  by  your  family." 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  "my  mother  often  talks  of 
such  things." 

"I  felt  that,  Sylvia,  when  I  saw  you.  I  said, 
'Here  is  an  ally.'  You  see,  I  must  have  help 
from  the  young  people — especially  from  the  girls, 
if  I  am  to  do  anything  with  the  men." 

There  was  a  solemn  pause.  "I  hope  I  haven't 
disappointed  you  too  much,"  said  Sylvia  at  last. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  fixed  upon  her  one  of  those 


SYLVIA  LINGERS 

intense  gazes.  "I've  been  perplexed,"  she  said. 
"You  must  understand,  I  can't  help  hearing 
what's  going  on.  People  come  to  ask  me  for 
advice,  and  I  must  give  it.  And  I've  felt  that 
what  I've  learned  made  it  really  necessary  for 
me  to  talk  to  you.  I  hope  that  you  won't  mind, 
or  think  that  I'm  presuming." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Winthrop,"  said  Sylvia,  "please 
don't  apologize.  I  am  glad  to  have  your  advice." 

"I  will  speak  frankly,  then.  As  well  as  I  can 
read  the  situation,  you  seem  to  have  taken  offense 
at  the  social  system  we  have  at  Harvard.  Is 
that  true?" 

Sylvia  thought.  "Yes,"  she  said — "some  parts 
of  it  have  offended  me." 

"Can  you  explain,  Sylvia?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can.  It's  a  thing  that  one 
feels.  I  have  had  a  sense  of  something  cruel 
about  it." 

"Something  cruel?  But  can't  one  feel  that 
about  any  social  system?  Haven't  you  classes 
at  home?  Don't  your  people  hold  themselves 
above  some  others?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  think  they  are  so  hard  about 
it — so  deliberate,  so  matter  of  fact." 

"Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop,  "that  is  something 
I  have  often  talked  about  with  Southern  people. 
The  reason  is  that  in  the  South  you  have  a  social 
class  which  is  definitely  separated  by  color,  and 
which  never  thinks  of  crossing  the  line.  But  in 
the  North,  my  dear,  our  servants  look  like  us, 
and  it's  not  quite  so  simple  drawing  the  line." 


252  SYLVIA 

"Oh,  but  I'm  not  talking  of  servants,  Mrs. 
Winthrop.  I  mean  here,  within  the  boundaries 
of  a  college  class.  Your  servants  do  not  go  to 
college." 

The  other  laughed.     "But  they  do,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  surely  not!" 

"It  costs  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year 
to  go  to  Harvard.  Any  man  can  come,  black  or 
white,  who  can  borrow  the  money.  He  may 
come,  and  earn  his  living  while  he's  here  by  tend 
ing  furnaces.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there's  a  man 
in  the  class  with  Douglas  van  Tuiver  whose 
father  is  a  butler." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  exclaimed  Sylvia. 

"A  man,"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop,  "named 
Firmin." 

Sylvia  was  aghast.    "Tom  Firmin!" 

"Yes.    Have  you  heard  of  him  before?" 

She  answered  in  a  faint  voice,  "Yes,"  and 
then  was  silent. 

"You  see,  my  dear,"  said  the  other,  gently, 
"why  we  are  conscious  of  our  class  lines  in  the 
Northl" 


§  20 

SYLVIA  judged  that  it  was  about  time  for  the 
cat  to  come  out  of  the  bag.  And  now  she  ob 
served  him  emerging — with  a  grave  and  stately 
tread,  as  became  a  feline  of  New  England  tradi 
tions.  Said  Mrs.  Winthrop:  "I  have  just  had 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  253 

a  talk  with  Douglas  van  Tuiver.  Of  course,  you 
must  know,  Sylvia,  that  he  has  conceived  an 
intense  admiration  for  you.  And  you  must  know 
that  when  a  man  so  intensely  admires  a  woman, 
she  has  a  great  influence  upon  him — an  influence 
which  she  can  use  either  for  good  or  for  evil." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Winthrop,"  said  Sylvia. 

"I  gather  that  his  admiration  for  you  is — is 
not  entirely  reciprocated,  Sylvia." 

"Er — no,"  said  the  girl,  "not  entirely." 

"He  has  come  to  me  in  great  distress.  You 
have  criticized  him,  and  he  has  felt  your  dis 
approval  keenly.  I  won't  need  to  repeat  what 
he  said — no  doubt  you  understand.  The  point 
is  that  you  have  brought  Douglas  to  a  state  of 
distraction;  he  wants  to  please  you,  and  he 
doesn't  know  how  to  do  it.  You  have  put  ideas 
into  his  head — really,  Sylvia,  you  will  ruin  the 
man — you  will  utterly  destroy  him.  I  cannot 
but  feel  that  you  have  acted  without  fully  realiz 
ing  the  gravity  of  the  situation — the  full  import 
of  the  demands  you  have  made  upon  him." 

"Really,"  protested  Sylvia,  "I  have  made  no 
demands  upon  him." 

"Not  formally,  perhaps.  But  you  must  under 
stand,  the  man  is  beside  himself,  and  he  takes 
them  as  demands." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  "I  have  tried 
earnestly  to  avoid  Mr.  van  Tuiver,"  said  Sylvia. 
"I  would  prefer  never  to  see  him  again." 

"But  that  is  not  what  I  want.  You  can't 
help  seeing  him — he  is  determined  to  see  you. 


254  SYLVIA 

My  point  is  that  your  advice  to  him  should  take 
another  form — you  should  realize  the  peculiar 
position  of  a  man  like  Douglas,  the  immense 
responsibilities  he  carries,  and  which  he  cannot  lay 
aside.  If  you  could  sympathize  with  him " 

There  was  again  a  pause.  "I  hope  you  won't 
think  it  obstinate  of  me,"  said  the  girl,  "but  I 
know  that  I  could  never  change  my  attitude — 
that  unless  Mr.  van  Tuiver  changed  his  way  of 
life,  he  could  never  be  a  friend  of  mine." 

"But,  Sylvia  dear,"  remonstrated  the  other, 
gently,  "he  has  been  a  friend  of  mine." 

And  so  the  real  battle  was  on.  There  have 
been  defences  of  the  Divine  Right  of  Kings, 
composed  by  eminent  and  learned  men;  there 
have  been  treatises  composed  upon  the  upbring 
ing  of  statesmen  and  princes — from  Machiavelli 
and  Castiglione  on;  Sylvia  was  ignorant  of  their 
very  existence,  and  so  she  was  in  no  way  a  match 
for  a  scholarly  person  like  Mrs.  Winthrop.  But 
one  thing  she  knew,  and  knew  it  with  overwhelm 
ing  certainty,  and  repeated  it  with  immovable 
obstinacy — she  did  not  like  van  Tuiver  as  he  was, 
she  could  not  tolerate  him  as  he  was.  Mrs. 
Winthrop  argued  and  pleaded,  apologized  and 
philosophized,  interpreting  most  eloquently  the 
privileges  and  immunities  incidental  to  the  pos 
session  of  fifty  millions  of  dollars.  But  Sylvia 
did  not  like  van  Tuiver,  she  could  not  tolerate 
van  Tuiver. 

At  last  Mrs.  Winthrop  stopped,  the  edges  of 
her  temper  somewhat  frayed.  She  gazed  at 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  255 

Sylvia  intently.  "May  I  ask  you  one  thing?" 
she  said. 

"What  is  it?"  inquired  the  girl. 

"Has  Douglas  asked  you  to  many  him?" 

"No,  he  has  not." 

"Do  you  think  that  he  will  ask  you?" 

"I  really  don't  know;  but  I  can  assure  you 
that  he  will  not  if  I  can  prevent  it." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  while  the  other  weighed 
this  utterance.  "Sylvia,"  she  said,  at  last,  "he 
has  a  great  deal  of  money." 

"I  have  heard  that  fact  mentioned,"  responded 
the  girl. 

"But  have  you  realized,  my  dear,  how  much 
money  he  has?" 

To  which  Sylvia  answered,  "We  are  not  taught 
to  think  so  deliberately  about  money  in  the 
South." 

Again  there  was  a  silence.  She  divined  that 
Mrs.  Winthrop  was  struggling  desperately  to  be 
noble.  "Do  I  understand  you  to  mean,  Sylvia, 
that  you  would  really  refuse  to  marry  him  if  he 
asked  you?" 

"I  most  certainly  mean  it,"  was  her  reply — 
and  it  was  given  convincingly. 

The  other  [drew  a  breath  of  relief.  She  had 
found  the  struggle  exhausting.  "My  dear  child," 
she  said,  "I  appreciate  your  fineness  of  character." 
She  paused.  "But  tell  me  this — if  you  do  not 
intend  to  marry  Douglas,  ought  you  to  permit 
him  to  compromise  himself  for  you?" 

"Compromise  himself,  Mrs.  Winthrop?  I 
don't  understand  you." 


256  SYLVIA 

"I  mean,  Sylvia,  that  he  is  exposing  himself 
to  the  ridicule  of  his  friends — he  is  making  a 
spectacle  of  himself  to  the  whole  University. 
And  then,  after  he  has  done  this,  you  propose 
to  cap  the  climax  of  his  humiliation  by  refusing 
to  marry  him!" 

Sylvia  had  so  far  been  most  decorous;  but  at 
this  point  her  sense  of  fun  was  too  much  for  her, 
and  merriment  broke  out  upon  her  countenance. 
"Mrs.  Winthrop,"  she  declared,  "there  is  but  one 
way  out — you  must  keep  Mr.  van  Tuiver  from 
proposing  to  me!" 

The  other's  pose  became  haughty  and  full  of 
rebuke;  but  Sylvia  was  not  to  be  frightened. 
"See  the  dilemma  I  am  in!"  she  exclaimed.  "If 
I  refuse  him,  I  humiliate  him  and  compromise 
him.  But  if  I  marry  him — what  becomes  of  my 
fineness  of  character?"  She  paused  for  a  moment, 
then  added,  "You  must  do  this,  Mrs.  Winthrop; 
you  must  take  the  responsibility  of  forbidding 
me  to  see  him  again.  You  must  make  it  so 
emphatic  that  I'll  simply  have  to  obey  you." 
,  "Queen  Isabella's"  feelings  were  approaching 
a  state  of  turmoil;  but  the  girl  urged  her  proposi 
tion  seriously,  finding  a  quite  devilish  amusement 
in  plaguing  her  hostess  with  it.  The  other  pro 
tested  that  she  would  not,  she  could  not,  she 
dared  not  take  the  responsibility  of  interfering 
with  Mr.  van  Tuiver's  love  affairs;  and  all  with 
out  having  the  least  idea  of  the  abysses  of  malice 
which  were  hidden  within  the  circumference  of 
the  pale  green  Quaker  bonnet  hi  front  of  her! 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  257 

§  21 

FRANK  SHIRLEY  came  to  call  that  afternoon,  and 
revealed  the  fact  that  the  gossip  had  reached 
even  him.  "Sylvia,  you  witch,"  he  exclaimed, 
and  pinched  her  ear — "what  in  the  world  have 
you  been  doing  to  Douglas  van  Tuiver?" 

She  caught  his  hand  and  held  it  in  both  hers. 
"What  has  happened,  Frank?" 

"A  miracle,  my  dear — simply  a  miracle!  Van 
Tuiver  has  been  to  call  on  Tom  Firmin!" 

"Oh,  how  interesting!"  cried  Sylvia.  "How 
was  he  received?" 

"Tell  me  first — did  you  suggest  it  to  him?" 

"I'm  a  woman — my  curiosity  is  much  less 
endurable  than  yours.  Tell  me  instantly." 

"Oh,  he  came — very  much  subdued  and  ill  at 
ease.  Said  he'd  realized  the  split  in  the  class, 
and  how  very  unfortunate  it  was,  and  he  wanted 
to  help  mend  matters." 

"What  did  Mr.  Firmin  say?" 

"He  asked  why  van  Tuiver  had  begun  with 
him.  'Because  I'd  heard  you  didn't  like  me/ 
said  van  Tuiver,  'and  I  wanted  to  try  to  put 
matters  on  a  better  footing.  I'd  like  to  be  a 
friend  of  yours  if  I  might.'  Tom — you  know 
him — said  that  friendship  wasn't  to  be  had  for 
the  asking — he'd  have  to  look  van  Tuiver  over 
and  see  how  he  panned  out.  First  of  all,  they 
must  understand  each  other  on  one  point — that 
he,  Tom,  wouldn't  be  patronized,  and  that  any 
body  who  tried  it  would  be  ordered  out."  Frank 

17 


258  SYLVIA 

paused,  and  laughed  his  slow,  gooa-natured  laugh. 
"Poor  van  Tuiver!"  he  said.  "I  feel  sorry  for 
him.  Imagine  him  having  to  say  he'd  be  willing 
to  take  the  risk!  It's  about  the  funniest  thing 
I  ever  heard  of.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  is  it 
true  that  you  did  it?" 

"Would  you  be  very  angry  if  I  said  'Yes'?" 

"Why,  no,"  he  answered — "only  I  suppose 
you  know  you're  getting  a  lot  of  publicity?" 

Sylvia  paused  for  a  while.  "I  suppose  it  was 
a  mistake  all  through,"  she  said,  "but  I  was 
ignorant  when  I  started,  and  since  then  I've 
been  dragged  along.  Mr.  van  Tuiver  has  kept 
at  me  to  tell  him  why  I  didn't  like  him — and  I've 
told  him,  that's  about  all.  I  thought  that  your 
friend  Mr.  Firmin  was  one  who'd  do  the  same." 

"He's  that,  all  right,"  laughed  Frank. 

There  was  a  pause,  then  suddenly  Sylvia  ex 
claimed,  "By  the  way,  there's  something  I  meant 
to  ask  you.  Is  it  true  that  Mr.  Firmin's  father 
is  a  butler?" 

"It  is,  Sylvia." 

"And  did  you  know  that  when  you  introduced 
him  to  me?" 

It  was  Frank's  turn  to  counter.  "Would  you 
be  very  angry  if  I  said  I  did?" 

"Why — not  angry,  Frank.  But  you  must 
realize  that  it  was  a  new  experience." 

"Did  you  find  him  ill-bred?" 

"Why,  no — not  that;  but 

"I  thought  you  might  as  well  see  all  sides  of 
college  life.  I  knew  you'd  meet  the  club-men. 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  259 

And  there's  a  particular  reason  why  you'll  have 
to  be  nice  to  Tom — he  wants  to  make  me  presi 
dent  of  the  class  just  now." 

"President  of  the  class!" 

"Yes.    Politics,  you  see!" 

"But,"  she  exclaimed,  "why  haven't  you  told 
me  about  it?" 

"I  didn't  know  until  yesterday.  Things  have 
been  shaping  themselves.  You  see,  the  feeling 
in  the  'Yard'  has  grown  more  bitter,  and  yester 
day  a  committee  came  to  me  and  asked  if  I'd 
stand  against  Shackleford,  who's  been  picked  by 
the  Auburn  Street  crowd,  and  was  expected  to  go 
in  without  opposition.  I  said  I'd  have  to  think 
it  over.  I  might  accept  the  position  if  I  was 
elected,  but  of  course,  I  wouldn't  do  any  wire 
pulling — wouldn't  seek  any  man's  vote.  They 
said  that  was  all  they  wanted.  But  I  don't 
know;  it's  a  difficult  question  for  me." 

"But  why?" 

"Well,  you  see,  they'll  rake  up  the  story  of 
my  father." 

Sylvia  gave  a  cry  of  horror.    "Frank!" 

"If  there's  a  contest,  it'll  be  war  and  no 
quarter." 

"But  would  they  do  such  a  thing  as  that?" 

"They  would  do  it,"  said  Frank,  grimly.  "So 
my  first  impulse  was  to  refuse.  But  I  rather 
thought  you'd  want  me  to  run.  For  you  see, 
I'll  have  that  old  scandal  all  my  life,  whatever 
I  try  to  do;  and  I  suppose  you  won't  let  me 
keep  out  of  everything." 


260  SYLVIA 

''But,  Frank,  how  will  they  know  about  your 
father?" 

"Lord,  Sylvia,  don't  you  suppose  with  all  the 
social  climbing  there  is  in  this  place,  they've  had 
that  morsel  long  ago?  There  are  fellows  here 
from  the  South — your  cousin,  for  one.  It  doesn't 
matter,  as  long  as  I'm  a  nobody;  but  if  I  set  out 
to  beat  the  'Gold  Coast  crowd' — then  you'd 
see!" 

It  was  amusing  to  Frank  to  see  how  her  eyes 
blazed.  "Oh,  I  ought  to  stay  to  help  you!" 
she  exclaimed.  "If  it  only  weren't  for  father!" 

"Don't  worry,  Sylvia.  I  wouldn't  let  you  stay 
for  anything.  I  don't  want  you  mixed  up  in 
such  affairs." 

"But,  Frank,  think  what  it  would  mean! 
What  a  blow  to  the  system  you  hate!  And  I 
could  pull  you  through — you  needn't  laugh,  I 
really  could!  There  are  so  many  men  I  could 
manage!" 

But  Frank  went  on  laughing.  "Honey,"  he 
said,  "you've  done  quite  enough — too  much — 
already.  How  are  you  going  to  pay  van  Tuiver 
for  what  he's  done?" 

"Pay  him,  Frank?" 

"Of  course.  Do  you  imagine,  dear,  that  van 
Tuiver's  a  man  to  do  anything  without  being 
paid?  He'll  hand  in  his  bill  for  services  ren 
dered,  and  he'll  put  a  high  value  on  his  services! 
And  what  will  you  do?" 

She  sat,  deep  hi  thought.  "Frank,"  she  ex 
claimed,  "you've  been  so  good — not  to  worry 
about  me  and  that  man!" 


SYLVIA  LINGERS 

He  smiled.  "Don't  I  know  what  a  proud  lady 
you  are?" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Honey,  if  I  had  been  afraid  about  van  Tuiver, 
do  you  suppose  I'd  have  dared  let  you  know  it?" 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  shining.  "How 
nicely  you  put  it!"  she  said.  "You're  the  dearest 
fellow  in  the  world,  a  regular  haven  of  refuge  to 
fly  to!"  Then  suddenly  her  mood  became  grave, 
and  she  said,  "Let  me  tell  you  the  truth;  I'm 
glad  I'm  going  away  from  the  man  and  his  money! 
It  isn't  that  it's  a  temptation — I  don't  know  how 
to  say  it,  but  it's  a  nightmare,  a  load  on  my 
mind.  I  think,  'Oh,  how  much  good  I  could 
do  with  that  money!'  I  think,  'So  much  power, 
and  he  hasn't  an  idea  how  to  use  it!'  It's  mon 
strous  that  a  man  should  have  so  much,  and  no 
ideas  to  go  with  it.  It's  all  very  well  to  turn  your 
back  on  it,  to  say  that  you  despise  it — but  still 
it's  there,  it's  working  all  the  time,  day  and  night 
— and  working  for  evil!  Isn't  that  true?" 

He  was  watching  her  with  a  quizzical  smile. 
"You're  talking  just  like  Tom!"  he  said. 
"They'll  call  you  an  Anarchist  at  home!" 

She  was  interested  in  the  idea  of  being  an 
Anarchist,  and  would  have  got  Frank  started 
upon  a  lecture  on  economics.  But  there  came  an 
interruption  in  the  form  of  a  knock  on  the  door 
and  a  boy  with  a  card.  Sylvia  glanced  at  it,  and 
then,  without  a  word,  passed  it  to  Frank.  He 
read  it  and  they  looked  at  each  other. 

"Well?"  he  asked.  "Are  you  going  to  see 
him?" 


262  SYLVIA 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.    "What  do  you  say?" 

"I  can  stand  it  if  you  can,"  laughed  Frank; 

and  so  Sylvia  ordered  Mr.  van  Tuiver  shown  up. 


§  22 

HE  stood  in  the  doorway,  clad  in  his  faultless 
afternoon  attire.  Somehow  he  had  recovered 
the  hard  brilliance,  the  look  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  which  Sylvia  had  noticed  the  first  evening. 
He  gazed  at  Frank,  not  hiding  very  well  his 
annoyance  at  finding  a  third  party. 

"Mr.  van  Tuiver,  Mr.  Shirley,"  said  Sylvia. 
"You  do  not  know  each  other,  I  believe." 

"I  know  Mr.  Shirley  by  sight,"  said  van 
Tuiver,  graciously.  He  seated  himself  on  a 
spindle-legged  Louis  Quinze  chair — so  stiffly  that 
Sylvia  thought  of  a  purple  domino.  She  beamed 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  then  remarked,  "What 
a  curious  commentary  on  the  Harvard  system! 
Two  men  studying  side  by  side  for  three  years, 
and  not  knowing  each  other!" 

She  was  aware  that  this  remark  was  not  of  the 
most  tactful  order.  She  made  it  on  purpose, 
thinking  to  force  the  two  into  a  discussion.  But 
van  Tuiver  was  not  minded  that  way.  "Er — 
yes,"  he  said,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

"Miss  Castleman's  notions  of  courtesy  are 
derived  from  a  pastoral  civilization,"  said  Frank, 
by  way  of  filling  in  the  breach.  "You  don't 
realize  the  size  of  Harvard  classes,  Sylvia." 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  263 

The  girl  was  watching  the  other  man,  and  she 
saw  that  he  had  instantly  noted  Frank's  form  of 
address.  He  looked  sharply,  first  at  his  rival,  and 
then  at  her.  "Mr.  Shirley  is  also  from  the 
South?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  "we  are  near  neighbors." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  van  Tuiver.  "Old  friends, 
then,  I  presume." 

"Quite,"  said  Sylvia,  and  again  there  was  a 
pause.  She  was  willing  to  let  the  two  men 
worry  through  without  help,  finding  it  fascinating 
to  watch  them  and  study  them.  What  a  curious 
contrast  they  made!  She  found  herself  wonder 
ing  how  far  van  Tuiver  would  have  got  hi  college 
life  if  he  had  had  the  handicaps  of  her  lover! 

Frank  was  talking  about  the  prospects  of  the 
baseball  team.  He  was  pleasant  and  friendly, 
and  of  course  quite  unmoved  by  the  presence  of 
Royalty.  He  seemed  to  be  wholly  unaware  of 
the  tension  in  the  air,  the  restlessness  and  im 
patience  of  the  man  he  was  talking  to.  But 
Sylvia  knew  and  was  thrilled. 

It  was  a  moment  full  of  possibilities  of  drama. 
She  asked  some  question  of  Frank,  and  he  an 
swered,  casually,  "Of  course,  honey."  He  went 
on,  unconcerned  and  unperceiving;  but  Sylvia 
saw  the  other  man  wince  as  if  he  had  been  touched 
by  something  red  hot.  He  looked  at  her,  but 
found  that  she  was  looking  away.  She  stole  a 
glance  at  him  again,  and  saw  that  he  was  watch 
ing  his  rival  with  strained  attention,  his  counte 
nance  several  shades  paler  in  hue. 


264  SYLVIA 

That  was  the  end  of  conversation,  so  far  as 
van  Tuiver  was  concerned.  He  answered  in 
monosyllables,  and  his  eyes  went  from  Frank  to 
Sylvia  like  those  of  a  hunted  animal  in  a  corner. 
The  girl  got  a  new  and  sharp  realization  of  his 
condition.  She  had  gone  into  this  affair  as  a 
joke,  but  now,  for  a  moment,  she  was  frightened. 
The  man  was  terrible;  every  minute,  as  he  watched 
Frank,  his  brow  grew  darker,  he  was  like  a  thunder 
cloud  in  the  room.  And  this  the  arbiter  of  Har 
vard's  best  society! 

At  last,  she  took  pity  on  him.  It  was  really 
preposterous  of  Frank  to  go  on  gossiping  about 
the  prospects  of  a  truce  with  the  Princeton 
"tiger,"  and  the  resumption  of  football  contests. 
So,  smiling  cheerfully  at  him,  she  remarked, 
"You'll  be  missing  the  lecture,  won't  you?" 
And  Frank,  realizing  that  he  was  a  third  party, 
made  his  excuses  and  withdrew. 

Van  Tuiver  barely  waited  until  Frank  had 
closed  the  door.  Then,  with  a  poor  effort  at 
nonchalance,  he  remarked,  "You  know  Mr. 
Shu-ley  quite  ultimately." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Sylvia. 

"You — you  like  him  very  much,  Miss  Castle- 
man?" 

"He's  a  splendid  fellow,"  she  replied.  "He's 
one  of  the  men  you  ought  to  have  been  culti 
vating." 

But  the  other  would  not  be  diverted  for  a 
moment.  "I — I  wish — pardon  me,  Miss  Castle- 
man,  but  I  want  you  to  tell  me — what  is  your 
relation  to  him?" 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  265 


"Why,  really,  Mr.  van  Tuiver- 


"I  know  I've  no  right — but  I'm  desperate!" 

"But — suppose  I  don't  care  to  discuss  the 
matter?"  She  was  decided  in  her  tone,  for  she 
saw  that  stern  measures  were  necessary  if  he  was 
to  be  checked. 

But  nothing  could  stop  him — he  was  beyond 
mere  convention.  "Miss  Castleman,"  he  rushed 
on,  "I  must  tell  you — I've  tried  my  best,  but 
I  can't  help  it!  I  love  you — as  I've  never  dreamed 
that  a  man  could  love.  I  want  to  marry  you!" 

He  stopped,  breathing  hard;  and  Sylvia, 
off  her  guard,  exclaimed,  "No!" 

"I  mean  it!"  he  declared.  "I'm  in  earnest — 
I  want  to  marry  you!" 

She  caught  herself  together.  She  had  not 
"meant  this  to  happen.  She  answered,  with  a  tone 
of  hauteur,  "Mr.  van  Tuiver,  you  have  no  right 
to  say  that  to  me." 

"But  why  not?  I  am  making  you  an  offer  of 
marriage.  You  must  understand.  I  mean  it." 

"I  am  able  to  believe  that  you  mean  it;  but 
that  is  not  the  point.  You  have  no  right  to  ask 
me  to  marry  you,  when  I  have  refused  you  my 
friendship." 

There  was  a  pause.  He  sat  staring  at  her  in 
pitiful  bewilderment.  "I  thought,"  he  said,  "this 
was  more  serious."  And  then  he  stopped,  read 
ing  in  her  face  that  something  was  wrong.  "  Isn't 
an  offer  of  marriage  more  serious  than  one  of 
friendship?"  he  inquired. 

"More  serious?"  repeated  Sylvia.  "More 
important,  you  mean?" 


260  SYLVIA 

"Exactly." 

"More   attractive/  that   is?"    she   suggested. 

"Why— yes." 

"In  other  words,  Mr.  van  Tuiver,  you  thought 
that  a  man  with  so  much  money  might  be  accepted 
as  a  husband  when  he'd  been  rejected  as  a  friend?" 

"Why — not  exactly  that,  Miss  Castleman " 

But  Sylvia  hardly  heard  his  denial.  A  wave  of 
annoyance,  of  disgust,  had  swept  over  her.  She 
rose  to  her  feet.  "You  have  justified  my  worst 
opinion  of  you!"  she  exclaimed. 

"What  have  I  done?"  he  cried,  miserably. 

"It  isn't  what  you've  done,  as  I've  told  you 
before — it's  what  you  are,  Mr.  van  Tuiver.  You 
are  utterly,  utterly  impossible,  and  I'm  furious 
with  myself  for  having  heard  what  you  have  just 
said  to  me." 

"Miss  Castleman!    I  beseech  you " 

But  she  would  not  hear  him  further.  She 
could  not  endure  his  presence.  "There  is  no 
use  saying  another  word,"  she  declared.  "I  will 
not  talk  to  you.  I  will  not  know  you!" 

The  madness  of  love  was  upon  him;  he' held 
out  his  hands  imploringly.  But  she  repelled  him 
with  blazing  eyes.  "You  must  go!"  she  said. 
"Go  at  once!  I  will  not  see  you  again — I  posi 
tively  forbid  you  to  come  near  me." 

He  tried  twice  to  speak,  but  each  tune  she 
stopped  him,  crying,  "Go,  Mr.  van  Tuiver!" 
And  so  at  last  he  went,  almost  crying  with  humil 
iation  and  distress,  in  his  agitation  forgetting  his 
hat  and  gloves.  So  furious  was  Sylvia  that  she 
shut  the  door,  and  fell  on  the  sofa  weeping. 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  267 

When  she  came  to  look  back  on  it,  she  was 
amazed  by  her  vehemence.  It  could  not  have 
been  the  manner  of  the  proposal,  for  he  had  been 
insufferable  many  times  before,  and  she  had 
managed  to  take  a  humorous  view  of  it.  Had 
it  perhaps  been  seeing  him  in  opposition  to  Frank 
which  had  fired  the  powder  mine  of  her  rage? 
Was  it  that  jealousy  of  his  power,  of  which  she 
had  spoken?  Or  was  it  the  protective  instinct 
with  which  Nature  had  endowed  her  maiden 
hood — that  she  could  jest  with  him  while  he  was 
seeking  her  friendship,  but  was  convulsed  with 
anger  when  he  spoke  to  her  of  love? 


§  23 

THAT  evening  there  was  an  entertainment  of 
the  " Hasty  Pudding"  Club,  and  the  next  after 
noon  Sylvia  was  to  take  her  departure.  All  the 
morning  she  held  an  informal  levee  of  those  who 
came  to  bid  her  good-bye,  and  to  make  their 
comments  on  the  amazing  events  which  were 
transpiring.  For  one  thing,  the  candidacy  of 
Frank  Shirley  for  class-president  was  formally 
announced;  and  for  another,  Douglas  van  Tuiver 
had  declared  his  intention  to  move  from  his 
house  into  one  of  the  cheaper  dormitories,  and  to 
take  his  seat  at  the  common  dining-tables  in 
Memorial  Hall. 

Earliest  of  all  came  Harley,  in  a  terrible  state. 


268  SYLVIA 

"What  can  have  got  into  you?  You've  ruined 
everything — you've  undone  all  the  good  you  did 
for  me!" 

'''As  bad  as  that,  Harley?"  she  asked.  She 
was  gentle  with  him,  realizing  suddenly  how 
completely  she  had  overlooked  him  and  his 
interests  in  the  last  few  crowded  days. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  he  went  on.  "What 
has  made  you  want  to  smash  things  like  this?" 

She  knew,  of  course,  that  there  was  no  use 
trying  to  explain  to  him.  She  contented  herself 
with  saying  that  things  could  not  be  as  bad  as 
he  thought. 

"They  couldn't  be  worse!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Van  Tuiver's  gone  over  to  the  'Yard/  bag  and 
baggage,  and  the  club-men  are  simply  furious. 
They're  denouncing  you,  because  you  made  him 
do  it,  and  when  they  can't  get  at  you,  they'll 
take  it  out  on  me.  Sooner  or  later  they  are 
bound  to  learn  that  you're  engaged  to  Frank 
Shirley;  and  then  they'll  say  you  did  it  all  to 
help  him — that  you  fooled  van  Tuiver  and  made 
a  cat's  paw  of  him  for  the  sake  of  Frank." 

That  was  a  new  aspect  of  the  matter,  and  a 
serious  one;  but  Sylvia  realized  that  there  was 
no  remedying  it  now.  She  was  glad  when  other 
callers  arrived,  so  that  she  might  send  her  cousin 
away. 

There  came  Thurlow,  who,  as  a  chum  of  Shackle- 
ford,  wished  to  protest  to  Sylvia  against  the  harm 
she  was  doing  to  the  latter' s  candidacy,  and  to 
all  that  was  best  in  Harvard's  social  life.  There 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  269 

came  Jackson,  who,  as  van  Tuiver's  best  friend, 
painted  a  distressful  picture  of  the  collapse  of 
his  prestige.  There  came  Harmon,  also  pledged 
to  plead  the  cause  of  "Auburn  Street, "  but  proving 
a  poor  ambassador  on  account  of  his  selfish  weak 
ness.  He  spoke  of  van  Tuiver's  pitiful  state,  but 
a  very  little  contriving  on  Sylvia's  part  sufficed  to 
bring  him  to  his  knees,  beseeching  her  to  make 
him  the  happiest  man  in  the  world. 

Sylvia  rather  liked  Harmon;  she  was  grateful 
to  him  for  having  been  the  first  man  at  Harvard 
to  fall  in  love  with  her,  thus  helping  her  over  a 
tune  of  great  self-distrust.  He  made  his  offer 
with  more  eloquence  than  one  would  have  ex 
pected  from  a  reserved  upper-class  club-man; 
and  Sylvia  gently  parried  his  advances,  and  wiped 
away  one  or  two  tears  of  genuine  sympathy,  and 
promised  to  be  a  sister  to  him  in  the  most  orthodox 
old  Southern  style. 

And  then  came  "Tubby"  Bates.  "Tubby" 
did  not  ask  her  to  marry  him,  but  he  made  her 
several  speeches  which  were  even  more  pleasant 
to  hear.  She  had  finished  her  packing,  and  had 
on  .her  gray  traveling  dress  when  he  called.  He 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  gazing  at  her 
approvingly,  his  round  face  beaming  and  his  eyes 
twinkling  with  fun.  "Oh,  what  a  stir  hi  the  frog- 
pond  we've  made!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  now 
you're  running  off  and  leaving  me  to  face  the 
racket  alone!" 

"What  in  the  world  have  you  to  do  with  it?" 
she  asked. 


270  SYLVIA 

"Me?  Doesn't  everybody  know  that  it  was 
I  who  set  you  on  van  Tuiver?  Didn't  I  bring 
you  together  at  that  fatal  dance?  And  now  all 
the  big  guns  in  the  college  are  aiming  murder 
at  me!" 

The  other  laughed.  "Surely,  Mr.  Bates,  your 
social  position  can  stand  a  strain!'' 

He  laughed  in  return,  but  suddenly  became 
serious.  He  said:  "I  wouldn't  care  anyhow. 
Honest  to  God,  Miss  Castleman!  There's  some 
thing  I  wanted  to  say  to  you — I  have  to  thank 
you  for  teaching  me  a  lesson." 

"A  lesson?" 

"You  know,  we  don't  live  hi  such  a  lovely 
world — and  I'm  afraid  I've  got  to  be  cynical. 
But  you've  made  me  ashamed  of  myself,  and 
I  want  to  tell  you.  It's  something  I  shall  never 
forget;  it  may  sound  melodramatic — but  I  shall 
always  think  better  of  women  for  what  you've 
done." 

She  looked  at  him  and  grew  serious.  "Tell 
me,  just  what  have  I  done  that  seems  so  extraor 
dinary  to  you?  I  haven't  felt  a  bit  heroic." 

"I'll  answer  you  straight.  You  turned  down 
van  Tuiver  and  his  money!" 

"And  does  that  really  surprise  you  so?"  she 
asked. 

"I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  didn't  believe  there 
was  a  woman  in  America  who'd  do  it.  I  can  tell 
you  also  that  van  Tuiver  didn't  believe  it!" 

Sylvia  could  not  help  laughing.  "But,  really, 
Mr.  Bates,  how  could  you  expect  so  badly  of  me 
— that  I'd  sell  my  soul  for  luxury?" 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  271 

"It  isn't  luxury,  Miss  Castleman.  That's 
nothing.  You  can  buy  a  whole  lot  of  luxury 
with  no  more  money  than  I've  got.  But  with 
van  Tuiver  it  would  be  something  else — something 
that  not  one  woman  in  a  million  has  offered  to 
her.  It's  power,  its  supremacy — it's  really  what 
you  called  Royalty." 

"And  you  thought  that  would  buy  me?" 

He  sat  watching  her  intently;  he  did  not  answer. 

"Tell  me  truly,"  she  said.     "I  won't  mind." 

"No,"  he  said,  "there's  something  beyond 
that.  I've  read  you,  Miss  Castleman,  and  I 
thought  he'd  get  you  this  way — you'd  think  of 
all  that  could  be  done  with  his  money.  How 
many  people  you  knew  that  you  could  help! 
How  much  good  you  could  do  in  the  world! 
You'd  think  of  starving  children  to  be  fed,  of 
sick  children  to  be  healed.  You'd  say,  'I  could 
make  him  do  good  with  that  money,  and  nobody 
else  in  the  world  could!'  That's  the  way  he'd 
get  you,  Miss  Castleman!" 

Sylvia  was  gazing  at  him,  fascinated.  He  saw 
a  strange  look  in  her  eyes,  and  he  felt,  rather 
than  saw,  that  she  drew  a  long  breath.  "You 
see!"  he  said.  "You  did  have  to  be  heroic!" 

So,  when  "Tubby"  Bates  took  his  departure, 
he  held  her  hand  longer  than  any  of  her  other 
callers  had  been  permitted  to.  "Dear  Miss 
Castleman,"  he  said,  "I'll  never  forget  you; 
and  if  you  need  a  friend,  count  on  me!" 

He  went  away,  and  Sylvia  sat  hi  her  chair, 
gazing  before  her,  deep  in  thought.  There  came 


272  SYLVIA 

a  knock,  and  a  note  was  brought  in.  She  frowned 
before  she  looked  at  it — she  had  come  to  know 
where  these  notes  came  from. 

"My  dear  Miss  Castleman,"  it  read,  "I  have 
just  learned  that  you  are  going  away.  I  implore 
you  to  give  me  one  word.  I  stand  ready  to  do 
all  that  you  have  asked  me,  and  I  throw  myself 
on  your  mercy.  I  must  see  you  once  again." 

For  a  moment  Sylvia  was  frightened,  wonder 
ing  if  she  had  a  madman  to  deal  with.  Then 
she  crumpled  the  paper  in  her  hand,  and  going 
to  the  desk,  seized  a  pen  and  wrote,  with  the 
swiftness  of  one  enraged: 

"Mr.  van  Tuiver,  I  have  asked  you  to  do  noth 
ing.  I  wish  you  to  do  nothing.  All  you  can 
accomplish  is  to  inflict  disagreeable  notoriety 
upon  me.  I  demand  that  you  give  up  all  thought 
of  me.  I  am  engaged  to  marry  another  man,  and 
I  will  under  no  circumstances  consent  to  see  you 
again." 

This  note  she  sent  down  by  the  boy,  and  when 
Frank  came  for  her  with  a  motor-car,  she  kept 
him  in  the  room  and  sent  Aunt  Varina  down  into 
the  lobby  to  make  sure  that  van  Tuiver  was  not 
waiting  there.  Some  instinct  made  her  feel  that 
she  must  not  let  the  two  men  meet  again. 

Also  this  gave  her  a  little  interval  with  Frank, 
She  put  her  hands  hi  his,  exclaiming,  "I'm  so 
glad  I've  got  you,  Frank !  Hurry  up — get  through 
with  this  place  and  come  home!" 

"You  didn't  like  it  here?"  he  smiled. 

"I'm  glad  I  came,"  she  answered.  "It'll  be 
good  for  me — I'll  be  happier  at  home  with  you!" 


SYLVIA  LINGERS  273 

He  took  her  gently  in  his  arms,  and  she  let 
him  kiss  her.  "You  really  do  love  me!"  he 
whispered.  "I  can't  understand  it,  but  you 
really  do  I" 

And  she  looked  at  him  with  her  shining  eyes. 
"I  love  you,"  she  said — "even  more  than  I  did 
when  I  came.  The  happiest  moment  of  my  life 
will  be  when  I  can  walk  out  of  the  church  with 
you,  and  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the 
world!" 

"Good-bye,  Lady  Sunshine!"  he  said.  "Good 
bye,  Lady  Sunshine!" 


BOOK  III 


Sylvia  Loses 


§  1 

SYLVIA  returned  to  New  York,  where  she  had 
some  shopping  to  attend  to,  and  where  also 
Celeste  was  waiting  for  her,  expecting  to  be 
taken  to  theatres,  and  treated  to  a  new  hat  and 
some  false  curls  and  boxes  of  candy.  Celeste 
had  heard  all  about  van  Tuiver,  it  appeared, 
and  was  " thrilled  to  death" — her  own  phrase. 
There  was  no  repressing  her  questions — "Is  he 
nice,  Sylvia?"— "What  does  he  look  like?"— and 
so  on.  Nor  was  there  any  concealing  her  surprise 
at  Sylvia's  reticence  and  lack  of  interest  in  this 
subject. 

The  elder  sister  got  a  sudden  realization  of  the 
extent  to  which  she  had  changed  during  this 
last  couple  of  weeks.  "They  will  call  you  an 
Anarchist  at  home,"  Frank  had  predicted;  and 
now  how  worldly  and  hard  seemed  Celeste  to 
her — how  shameful  and  cruel  her  absorption  in 
all  the  snobbery  of  Miss  Abercrombie's!  Could 
it  be  that  she,  Sylvia,  had  ever  been  so  "thrilled 
to  death"  over  millionaire  beaux  and  millionairess' 
millinery?  Her  sister  had  grown  so  in  the  few 
months  that  Sylvia,  hardly  knew  her;  she  had 
grown,  not  merely  in  body  but  in  mind.  So 
serene  she  was,  so  self-possessed,  so  perfectly 
certain  about  herself  and  her  life!  Such  energy 
she  had,  such  determination — how  her  sharp, 

(277) 


278  SYLVIA 

black  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  in  the  glories 
of  this  world!  Sylvia  found  herself  stealing 
glances  at  her  during  the  matinee,  and  wondering 
if  this  could  be  " Little  Sister"? 

Sylvia  had  dismissed  her  multi-millionaire  from 
her  mind;  but  she  was  not  to  get  rid  of  him  as 
easily  as  that.  ("He  persists  and  persists," 
Bates  had  said.)  One  afternoon,  feeling  tired, 
she  sent  her  aunt  forth  to  attend  to  some  of  the 
family  commissions;  when  to  her  amazement 
there  was  sent  up  a  note,  written  upon  the  hotel 
stationery,  in  the  familiar  square  Rngliph  hand 
writing. 

"My  dear  Miss  Castleman,"  it  ran.  "I  know 
that  you  will  be  angry  when  you  see  I  have  fol 
lowed  you  to  New  York.  I  can  only  plead  with 
you  to  have  pity  upon  me.  You  have  put  upon 
me  a  burden  of  contempt  which  I  can  simply 
not  bear;  if  I  cannot  somehow  manage  to  win 
your  respect,  I  cannot  live.  I  ask  only  for  your 
respect,  and  will  promise  never  to  ask  for  anything 
else,  nor  to  think  of  anything  else.  However 
bad  I  may  be,  surely  you  cannot  deny  me  the 
hope  of  becoming  better!" 

You  see,  it  would  have  been  hard  for  Sylvia 
to  refuse  the  request.  He  struck  the  right  chord 
when  he  asked  for  her  pity,  for  she  pitied  all 
things  that  suffered — whether  they  deserved  it 
or  not. 

She  pitied  him  when  she  saw  him,  for  his  face 
was  drawn  and  his  look  haunted.  He,  the  man 
of  fashion,  the  exemplar  of  good  taste,  stood 


SYLVIA  LOSES  279 

before  her  like  a  whipped  schoolboy,  afraid  to 
lift  his  eyes  to  hers. 

He  began,  in  a  low  voice,  "It  is  kind  of  you 
to  see  me.  There  is  something  I  wish  to  try 
to  explain  to  you.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I 
have  thought  over  what  you  have  said  to  me. 
I  have  hardly  thought  of  anything  else.  I  have 
tried  to  see  things  from  your  point  of  view,  Miss 
Castleman.  I  know  I  have  seemed  to  you  mon 
strously  egotistical — selfish,  and  all  that.  I  have 
felt  your  scorn  of  me,  like  something  burning  me. 
I  can't  bear  it.  I  simply  must  show  you  that 
I  am  really  not  as  bad  as  I  have  seemed.  I  want 
you  to  realize  my  side  of  it — I  mean,  how  much 
I've  had  against  me,  how  hard  it  was  for  me  to 
be  anything  but  what  I  am." 

He  paused.  He  had  his  hat  in  his  hands,  and 
Sylvia  observed  to  her  dismay  that  he  was  twist 
ing  it,  for  all  the  world  like  a  nervous  schoolboy. 

"I  want  to  be  understood,"  he  said,  "but  I 
don't  know  if  you  are  willing — if  I  bore  you " 

"Pray  go  on,  Mr.  van  Tuiver,"  she  said,  in  a 
gentler  tone  of  voice  than  she  had  ever  used  to 
him  before. 

"This  is  the  point!"  he  burst  out.  "You 
simply  can't  know  what  it's  meant  to  be  brought 
up  as  I  was!  I've  come  to  realize  why  you  hate 
me;  but  you  must  know  that  you're  the  first 
who  ever  showed  me  any  other  viewpoint  than 
that  of  money.  There  have  been  some  who 
seemed  to  have  other  viewpoints,  but  they  were 
only  pretending,  they  always  came  round  to  the 


280  SYLVIA 

money  viewpoint,  they  gave  the  money  reaction. 
If  you  try  things  by  a  certain  measure,  and  they 
fit  it,  you  come  to  think  that's  the  measure  they 
were  made  by.  And  that's  been  my  experience; 
since  I  was  a  little  child,  as  far  back  as  I  can 
remember — men  and  women  and  even  children, 
everybody  I  met  was  the  same — until  I  met  you." 

He  stopped,  waiting  for  her  to  give  some  sign. 
Her  eyes  caught  his  and  held  them.  "How  was 
I  able  to  convince  you?"  she  asked. 

" You—  "  he  said— and  then  hesitated.  "You'll 
be  angry  with  me." 

"No,"  she  said,  "go  on.     Let  us  talk  frankly." 

"You  refused  to  marry  me,  Miss  Castleman." 

"That  was  the  supreme  test?"  He  shrank, 
but  she  pursued  him.  "You  hadn't  thought 
that  any  woman  would  really  refuse  to  marry 
you?" 

He  replied  hi  a  low  voice:  "I  hadn't." 

Sylvia  sat,  absorbed  in  thought.  "What  a 
world!"  she  whispered,  half  to  herself;  and  then 
to  him:  "Tell  me— is  Mrs.  Winthrop  like  that?" 

Again  he  hesitated.  "I — I  don't  know,"  he 
replied.  "I  never  thought  about  her  in  that 
way.  She  already  has  her  money." 

"If  she  still  had  to  get  it,  then  you  don't  know 
what  she'd  be?" 

She  saw  a  quick  look  of  fear.  "You're  angry 
with  me  again?"  he  questioned.  By  things  such 
as  this  she  realized  how  thoroughly  she  had  him 
cowed. 

"No  "  she  said,  gently,  "I'm  really  interested. 


SYLVIA  LOSES  281 

I  do  see  your  side  better.  I  have  blamed  you  for 
being  what  you  are,  but  you're  really  only  part 
of  a  world,  and  it's  this  world  that  I  hate." 

"Yes,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  light  of 
hope  in  his  eyes.  "Yes,  that's  it  exactly!  And 
I  want  you  to  help  me  get  out  of  that  world — 
to  be  something  better,  so  that  you  won't  have 
to  despise  me.  I  only  ask  you  to  be  interested 
hi  me,  to  help  me  and  advise  me.  I  won't  even 
ask  you  to  be  my  friend — you  can  decide  that  for 
yourself.  I  know  I'm  not  worthy  of  you.  Truly, 
I  blush  with  shame  when  I  think  that  I  asked  you 
to  marry  me!" 

"You  shouldn't  say  that,"  she  smiled.  "It 
was  only  so  that  you  really  came  to  trust  me!" 

But  he  would  not  jest.  He  had  come  there  in 
one  last  forlorn  effort,  and  he  poured  himself  out 
in  self-abasement,  so  that  it  hurt  Sylvia  merely  to 
listen  to  him.  She  made  haste  to  tell  him  that 
his  boon  was  granted — she  would  think  of  him 
in  a  kindlier  way,  and  would  let  him  write  to 
her  of  his  struggles  and  his  hopes.  Some  day, 
perhaps,  she  might  even  see  him  again  and  be 
his  friend. 

While  they  were  still  talking  there  came  an 
interruption — a  bell-boy  with  a  telegram  addressed 
to  Sylvia.  She  glanced  at  it,  tore  it  open  and 
read  it;  and  then  van  Tuiver  saw  her  go  white. 
"Oh!"  she  cried,  as  if  in  sudden  pain.  "Oh!" 

She  started  to  her  feet,  and  the  man  did  the 
same.  "What  is  it?"  he  asked;  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  hear  him.  She  stood  with  her  hands 


282  SYLVIA 

clenched,  staring  before  her,  whispering,  "Papa! 
Papa!" 

She  looked  about  her,  distracted.  "Aunt 
Varina's  gone!"  she  cried.  "And  I  don't  know 
where  she  is!  We'll  be  delayed  for  hours!"  She 
began  to  wring  her  hands  with  grief  and  distress. 

Van  Tuiver  asked  again,  more  urgently,  "What 
is  it?" 

She  put  the  telegram  into  his  hands,  and  he 
read  the  message:  "Come  home  at  once.  Take 
first  train.  Let  nothing  delay.  Father." 

"He's  ill!"  she  cried.  "I  know  he's  ill — maybe 
dead,  and  I'll  never  see  him  again!  Oh,  Papa!" 
So  she  went  on,  quite  oblivious  to  the  presence 
of  the  man. 

"But  listen!"  he  protested.  "I  don't  under 
stand.  This  telegram  is  signed  by  your  father." 

"I  know!"  she  cried.  "But  they'd  do  that— 
they'd  sign  his  name,  even  if  he  were  dead,  so 
that  I  wouldn't  know.  They'd  want  me  home 
to  break  the  news  to  me!" 

"But,"  he  asked,  "have  you  reason  to 
think " 

"He  was  ill.  I  didn't  know  just  how  ill,  but 
that's  why  I  was  going  home.  He  must  be  dying, 
or  they'd  never  telegraph  me  like  that."  She 
gazed  about  her,  wildly.  "And  don't  you  see? 
Aunt  Varina's  out.  I'm  helpless!" 

"We'll  have  to  find  her,  Miss  Castleman." 

"But  I've  no  idea  where  she's  gone — she  just 
said  she  would  be  shopping.  So  we'll  miss  the 
four  o'clock  train,  and  then  there's  none  till  eight, 


SYLVIA  LOSES  283 

and  that  delays  us  nearly  a  whole  day,  because 
we  have  to  lie  over.  Oh,  God — I  must  do  some 
thing.  I  can't  wait  all  that  time!" 

She  sank  on  a  chair  by  the  table  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands,  sobbing  like  one  distracted. 
The  man  by  her  side  was  frightened,  never  having 
seen  such  grief. 

"Miss  Castleman,"  he  pleaded,  "pray  control 
yourself — surely  it  can't  be  so  bad.  There  are 
so  many  reasons  why  they  might  have  telegraphed 
you." 

"No!"  she  exclaimed,  "no,  you  don't  under 
stand  them.  They'd  never  send  me  such  a  message 
unless  something  terrible  had  happened!  And 
now  I'll  miss  the  train." 

"Listen,"  he  said,  quickly,  "don't  think  any 
thing  more  about  that — let  me  solve  that  problem 
for  you.  You  can  have  a  special,  that  will  start 
the  moment  you  are  ready  and  will  take  you 
home  directly." 

"A  special?"  she  repeated. 

"A  private  car.  I'd  put  my  own  at  your  dis 
posal,  but  it  would  have  to  be  sent  around  by 
ferry,  and  that  would  take  too  long.  I  can  order 
another  in  a  few  minutes,  though." 

"But  Mr.  van  Tuiver,  I  can't  let  you " 

"Pray,  don't  say  that!  Surely  hi  an  emergency 
like  this  one  need  not  stand  on  ceremony.  The 
cost  will  be  nothing  to  speak  of,  and  it  will  give 
me  the  greatest  pleasure." 

He  took  her  bewildered  silence  for  consent,  and 
stepped  to  the  'phone.  While  he  was  communi- 


284  SYLVIA 

eating  with  the  railroad  and  giving  the  necessary 
orders,  she  sat,  choking  back  her  sobs,  and  try 
ing  to  think.  What  could  the  message  mean? 
Could  it  mean  anything  but  death? 

She  came  back  to  the  man;  she  realized  vaguely 
that  he  was  a  great  help,  cool,  efficient  and  deci 
sive.  He  phoned  for  a  messenger,  and  wrote  a 
check  and  an  order  for  the  tram  and  sent  it  off. 
He  had  a  couple  of  maids  sent  up  by  the  hotel 
to  do  the  packing.  "Now,"  he  said,  "do  not 
give  another  thought  to  these  matters — the 
moment  your  aunt  comes  you  can  step  into  a 
taxi,  and  the  train  will  take  you." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!"  she  said.  She  had 
a  moment  of  wonder  at  his  masterfulness;  a 
special  train  was  a  luxury  of  which  she  would 
never  have  thought.  She  realized  another  of  the 
practical  aspects  of  Royalty — he  would  of  course 
use  a  private  car. 

But  then  she  began  to  pace  the  room  again, 
her  features  working  with  distress.  "Oh,  Papa! 
Papa!"  she  kept  crying. 

"You  really  ought  not  to  suffer  like  this,  when 
it  may  be  only  a  mistake,"  he  pleaded.  "Give 
me  the  address  and  I  will  telegraph  for  further 
particulars.  You  can  get  the  answer  on  your 
train,  you  know.  And  meantime  I'll  try,  and 
see  if  we  can  get  your  home  on  the  long-distance 
'phone." 

"Can  we  talk  at  this  distance?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  but  at  least  we  can  relay  a 
message."  So  again  she  let  him  manage  her 


SYLVIA  LOSES  285 

affairs,  grateful  for  his  prompt  decisiveness,  which 
set  all  the  machinery  of  civilization  at  work  in 
her  behalf. 

"Now  try  to  be  calm,"  he  said,  "until  we  can 
get  some  more  definite  information.  People  are 
sometimes  ill  without  dying." 

"I've  always  known  that  I  was  going  to  lose 
my  father  suddenly!"  she  broke  out.  "I  don't 
know  why — he  has  tragedy  in  his  very  face.  If 
you  could  only  see  it — his  dear,  dear  face!  I 
love  him  so,  I  can't  tell  you.  I  wake  up  in  the 
night,  sometimes,  and  the  thought  comes  to  me: 
'Papa  has  to  die!  Some  day  I'll  have  to  part 
from  him/  And  then  the  most  dreadful  terror 
seizes  me — I  don't  know  how  I  can  bear  it! 
Papa,  oh,  Papa!" 

She  began  to  sob  again;  in  his  sympathy  he 
came  and  stood  by  her.  "Please,  please,"  he 
murmured. 

"I've  no  right  to  inflict  this  upon  you,"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Don't  think  of  that.  If  I  could  only  help 
you — if  I  could  suggest  anything." 

"It's  one  of  those  cases,"  she  said,  "where 
nothing  can  be  done.  Whatever  it  is,  I'll  have 
to  endure  it,  somehow.  If  he'll  only  live  until  I 
get  there,  so  that  I  can  see  him,  speak  with  him 
again,  hear  his  voice.  I've  never  really  been 
able  to  tell  him  how  much  I  love  him.  All  that 
he's  done  for  me — you  see,  I've  been  his  favorite 
child,  we've  been  like  two  playmates.  I've 
tended  him  when  he  was  ill,  I've  read  to  him — 


286  SYLVIA 

everything.  So  he  always  thinks  about  me.  He 
wants  me  to  be  happy,  and  so  he  hides  his  troubles 
from  me.  He  hides  them  from  everybody;  and 
you  know  how  it  is — that  makes  people  lean  on 
him  and  take  advantage  of  him.  He's  a  kind  of 
family  drudge — everybody  comes  to  him,  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  his  nephews  and  nieces- 
anybody  that  needs  help  or  advice  or  money. 
He's  so  generous — too  generous,  and  so  he  gets 
into  difficulties.  I've  seen  his  light  burning  till 
two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  he  was 
working  over  his  accounts;  and  then  he  looks 
pale  and  haggard,  and  still  he  smiles  and  won't 
let  me  know.  But  I  always  know,  because  he 
stays  close  to  me,  like  a  child.  And  now  there's 
been  an  overflow,  and  maybe  this  year's  whole 
crop  is  ruined,  and  that's  a  terrible  misfortune, 
and  he's  been  worrying  about  it " 

Suddenly  she  stopped.  This  was  Douglas  van 
Tuiver  she  was  talking  to — telling  him  her  family 
affairs!  She  had  a  sudden  thrill  of  fear  about 
it — she  ought  not  to  have  let  him  know  that  her 
father  was  in  difficulties  as  to  money! 

It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however;  she  could 
not  think  very  long  of  anything  but  her  father. 
What  floods  of  memories  came  sweeping  over  her! 
"He  was  always  so  proud  of  me,"  she  continued. 
"When  I  came  out,  two  years  ago — dear  old 
Daddy,  he  wore  his  wedding-suit,  that  he'd  had 
put  away  in  a  cedar  chest  in  the  attic.  He  stood 
beside  mother,  under  the  lilies  and  the  bright 
lights,  and  both  of  them  would  look  at  me  and 
beam." 


SYLVIA  LOSES  287 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  was  pacing  the 
room,  talking  brokenly,  but  eagerly,  as  if  it  were 
important  to  make  her  listener  realize  how  very 
lovable  her  father  was.  "Just  think!"  she  said. 
"He  had  an  old  purse  in  his  hand — one  that  my 
mother  had  given  him  on  their  wedding  journey. 
In  it  was  an  orange-blossom  from  their  bridal- 
bouquet,  and  some  rose  leaves  that  she  had 
bitten  off  and  let  fall  at  his  feet,  once  when  he 
was  courting  her.  He  had  treasured  them  for 
twenty  years;  and  now  some  one  brushed  against 
his  hand  and  knocked  the  dead  leaves  to  the 
floor,  and  they  broke  and  went  all  to  dust,  and 
he  got  down  on  his  knees  and  searched  for  them 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  I  remember  how  mother 
scolded  him  for  making  a  spectacle  of  himself, 
and  he  got  up  and  went  off  by  himself,  to  grieve 
because  his  bridal-flowers  had  turned  to  dust." 

Van  Tuiver  had  listened  in  silence.  When  he 
spoke,  his  voice  held  a  strange  note.  "Never 
mind,"  he  said,  "you  will  make  it  up  to  him. 
You  will  give  him  flowers  from  your  bridal  wreath." 

Again  Sylvia  found  herself  uncomfortable.  But 
they  were  interrupted  by  the  telephone — the 
connections  with  her  home  had  been  established. 
She  flew  to  the  booth  downstairs,  but  she  could 
hear  nothing  but  a  buzzing  noise,  and  so  there 
were  some  torturing  minutes  while  her  questions 
were  relayed — she  talking  with  "Washington," 
and  "Washington"  with  "Atlanta,"  and  so  on. 
What  she  finally  got  was  this:  No  one  was  ill 
or  dead,  but  she  must  come  at  once — nothing 


288  SYLVIA 

must  delay  her.  They  could  not  explain  until 
she  arrived.  And  of  course  that  availed  her 
simply  nothing.  She  was  convinced  that  they 
were  hiding  the  truth  until  she  was  home. 

When  she  went  back  to  her  room,  she  found 
that  Aunt  Varina  had  come.  Their  trunks  were 
ready,  and  so  they  set  off  for  the  station,  van 
Tuiver  with  them.  He  saw  them  settled  in  their 
car,  and  the  girl  perceived  that  at  so  much  as  a 
word  from  her  he  would  have  taken  the  long 
journey  with  her.  She  shook  hands  with  him 
and  thanked  him — so  gratefully  that  he  was 
quite  transported.  As  the  car  started  and  he 
hurried  to  the  door  and  leaped  off,  he  was  a 
happier-looking  van  Tuiver  than  Sylvia  had  ever 
expected  to  see. 


§2 

BY  the  time  that  Sylvia's  train  reached  home, 
she  had  gotten  herself  together.  Although  still 
anxious,  she  no  longer  showed  it.  Whatever 
the  tragedy  might  be,  she  was  ready  to  face  it, 
not  asking  for  help,  but  giving  help  to  others. 
It  was  surely  for  that  that  they  had  summoned 
her. 

She  was  on  the  car  platform  as  the  train  slowed 
up;  and  there  before  her  eyes  stood  her  father. 
He  was  haggard,  and  gray,  and  old-looking — but 
alive,  thank  God! 

She  flew  to  his  arms.  "Papa!  What's  the 
matter?" 


SYLVIA  LOSES  289 

"Nothing,  my  child,"  he  answered. 

"But  who  is  ill?" 

"Nobody  is  ill,  Sylvia." 

"Tell  me  the  truth!" 

"No  one,"  he  insisted. 

"But  then,  why  did  you  send  for  me?" 

"We  wanted  you  home." 

"But,  Papa!  In  this  fashion — surely  you 
wouldn't — "  She  stopped,  and  the  Major  turned 
to  greet  his  sister. 

Sylvia  got  into  the  motor,  and  they  started. 
"Is  Mamma  well?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  replied. 

"And  the  baby?" 

"Everybody  is  well." 

"And  you,  Papa?" 

"I  have  not  been  so  very  fine,  but  I  am  better 
now."  Sylvia  suspected  he  had  got  up  from  his 
sick-bed  to  come  and  meet  her,  and  so  her  sense 
of  dread  increased.  But  she  put  no  more  ques 
tions — she  knew  she  would  have  to  wait.  The 
Major  had  begun  to  talk  about  the  state  of  the 
crops. 

The  car  reached  home;  and  there  on  the  steps 
were  her  mother,  and  the  baby  shouting  a  lusty 
welcome,  and  Peggy  and  Maria  dancing  with  glee 
— to  say  nothing  of  troops  of  servants,  inside  the 
house  and  out,  grinning  and  waiting  to  be  noticed. 
There  was  noise  and  excitement,  so  much  that  for 
several  minutes  Sylvia  forgot  her  anxiety.  Then 
everybody  wanted  to  know  if  she  had  brought 
them  presents;  she  had  to  stop  and  think  what 

19 


290  SYLVIA 

she  had  purchased,  and  what  she  had  delayed 
to  purchase,  and  what  she  had  left  behind  in  the 
rush  of  departure.  Aunt  Varina  said  something 
about  the  special  train,  and  there  were  questions 
about  that,  and  about  Douglas  van  Tuiver,  who 
had  provided  it.  And  still  not  a  word  about  the 
mystery. 

"But,  Mamma,"  cried  Sylvia,  at  last,  "why 
did  you  bring  me  home  like  this?"  . 

"Hush,  dear,"  said  "Miss  Margaret."  "Not 
now." 

And  so  more  delay.  Aunt  Nannie  was  expected 
shortly — she  had  said  she  would  run  over  to  greet 
the  returning  voyagers.  Sylvia  scented  trouble 
in  this,  and  would  no  longer  be  put  off,  but  took 
her  mother  aside.  "Mamma,"  she  pleaded, 
"please  tell  me  what's  the  matter!" 

The  other  colored.  "It  isn't  time  now,  my 
child." 

"But  why  not,  Mamma?" 

"Wait,  Sylvia,  please.    It  is  nothing " 

"But,  Mamma,  did  you  send  me  such  a  tele 
gram  for  nothing?  Don't  you  realize  that  I 
have  been  almost  beside  myself?  I  was  sure 
that  somebody  was  dead." 

"Sylvia,  dear,"  pleaded  "Miss  Margaret," 
"please  wait — I  will  tell  you  by  and  by.  There 
are  people  here  now " 

"But  there'll  always  be  people  here.  Come 
into  the  library  with  me." 

"I  beg  you  to  calm  yourself " 

"But,  Mamma,  I  want  to  know!    Why  should 


SYLVIA  LOSES  291 

I  be  tormented  with  delay?  Can't  I  see  by  the 
manner  of  all  of  you  that  something  is  wrong? 
What  is  it?"  She  dragged  her  mother  off  to 
the  library,  and  shut  the  door.  "Now,  Mamma, 
tell  me!" 

The  other  looked  towards  the  door,  as  if  she 
wished  to  make  her  escape.  Something  about 
her  attitude  reminded  Sylvia  of  that  "talk"  she 
had  had  before  her  departure  for  school.  "My 
dear  Sylvia,"  began  the  mother,  "it  is  something — 
it  is  very  difficult " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  go  on!" 

"My  child,  you  are  going  to  be  dreadfully 
distressed,  I  fear.  I  wish  that  I  could  help  you 
— oh,  Sylvia,  dear,  I'd  rather  die  than  have  to 
tell  you  this!" 

Sylvia  clutched  her  hands  to  her  bosom  in  sud 
den  fear.  Her  mother  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
her.  "Oh,  my  child,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  must 
believe  that  we  love  you,  and  you  must  let  our 
love  help!  We  tried  to  save  you  from  this — from 
this " 

"Tell  me!"  cried  the  girl.     "Tell  me!" 

"Oh,  my  poor  child!"  wailed  "Miss  Margaret" 
again,  "Why  did  you  have  to  love  him?  We 
were  sure  he  would  turn  out  to  be  bad !  We " 

Sylvia  sprang  towards  her  and  shook  her  by 
the  arm. 

"Mamma,  answer  me!    What  is  it?" 

"Miss  Margaret"  began  searching  in  the  bosom 
of  her  dress.  She  drew  out  a  crumpled  piece  of 
paper — a  telegram.  Sylvia  took  it  with  trembling 
fingers,  and  spreading  it  out,  read  these  words: 


292  SYLVIA 

"Frank  Shirley  arrested  in  disorderly  house  in 
Boston,  held  to  await  result  of  assault  on  another 
student.  Possibly  fatal.  Get  Sylvia  home  at 
once.  Harley." 

She  stood  perfectly  rigid,  staring  at  her  mother. 
She  could  not  realize  the  words,  they  swam  before 
her  in  a  maze.  The  paper  fluttered  from  her 
fingers.  "It's  false!"  she  cried.  "Do  you  expect 
me  to  believe  that?  It's  a  plot!  It's  some 
trick  they've  played  on  Frank!" 

Her  mother,  frightened  by  the  pallor  of  her 
face,  put  her  arms  around  her.  "My  daughter — " 
she  began. 

"What  have  you  done  about  this?  I  mean — 
to  find  out  if  it  is  true?" 

"We  telegraphed  Harley  to  write  us  full 
particulars." 

"Oh,  why  did  you  send  for  me?"  the  girl 
exclaimed,  passionately.  "If  Frank  is  arrested, 
I  ought  to  be  there!" 

"Sylvia!"  cried  her  mother,  aghast.  "Have 
you  read  the  message?  Don't  you  see  where  he 
was  arrested?" 

Yes,  Sylvia  had  read,  but  what  could  she  make 
of  it?  In  her  mind  was  a  medley  of  emotions: 
horror  at  what  Frank  had  done,  disbelief  that  he 
had  done  it,  shame  of  a  subject  of  which  she  had 
been  taught  not  to  think,  anxiety  for  her  lover  in 
trouble — all  these  contended  within  her. 

"The  wretch!"  exclaimed  "Miss  Margaret." 
"To  drag  my  child's  name  in  the  mire!" 

"Hush!"  cried  Sylvia,  between  her  teeth.    "It 


SYLVIA  LOSES  293 

is  not  true!  It's  somebody  trying  to  ruin  him! 
It's  a  horrible,  horrible  lie!" 

" But,  Sylvia!  The  telegram  came  from  your 
cousin!" 

"I  don't  care!  It's  some  tale  they've  told  to 
Harley!" 

"But — he  says  Frank  is  arrested!" 

"Oh,  I  ought  to  go  to  him!  I  ought  to  find 
out  the  truth!  Frank  is  not  that  kind  of  man!" 

"My  child,"  ventured  "Miss  Margaret,"  "how 
much  do  you  know  about  men?" 

Sylvia  stared  at  her  mother.  Vague  questions 
trembled  on  her  lips;  but  she  saw  there  was  no 
help  in  that  quarter.  "I  have  always  kept  my 
daughter  innocent!"  the  other  was  saying.  "He 
ought  to  be  killed  for  coming  into  our  home  and 
dragging  you  into  such  shame!" 

Sylvia  stood  silent,  utterly  bewildered.  She 
knew  that  there  were  dreadful  things  in  the  world, 
of  which  she  had  gathered  only  the  vaguest  hints. 
"A  disorderly  house! "  She  had  heard  the  name 
— she  had  heard  other  such  names;  she  knew 
that  these  were  unmentionable  places,  where 
wicked  women  lived  and  vile  things  were  done; 
also  she  knew  that  men  went  there — but  surely 
not  the  men  she  knew,  surely  not  gentlemen, 
not  those  who  ventured  to  ask  for  her  love! 

But  why  should  she  torment  herself  with  such 
thoughts  now?  This  charge  against  Frank  could 
not  be  true !  ' '  How  long  will  it  be, "  she  demanded, 
"before  we  can  have  the  letter  from  Harley?" 

"At  least  another  day,  your  father  says." 


294  SYLVIA 

"And  there  is  nothing  else  we  can  do?"  She 
tried  to  think.  "We  might  telephone  to  Harley." 

"Your  Aunt  Nannie  suggested  that,  but  your 
father  would  not  have  such  a  matter  talked  about 
over  the  'phone." 

Sylvia  racked  her  brains,  but  there  was  no 
other  plan  she  could  suggest.  She  saw  that  she 
had  at  least  one  day  of  torment  and  suspense 
before  her.  "Very  well,  Mamma,"  she  said. 
"Let  me  go  to  my  room  now.  I'll  try  to  be  calm. 
But  don't  let  anybody  come,  please — I  want  to 
be  alone." 

She  could  hardly  endure  to  go  out  into  the 
hall,  because  of  her  shame,  and  the  fear  of  meet 
ing  some  member  of  the  family.  But  there  was 
no  need  of  that — they  all  knew  what  was  happen 
ing,  and  went  about  on  tiptoe,  as  in  a  house  of 
mourning.  Everyone  kept  out  of  her  way,  and 
she  went  up  to  her  room  and  shut  herself  in  and 
locked  the  door.  There  passed  twenty-four 
hours  of  agony,  during  which  she  by  turns  paced 
the  floor,  or  lay  upon  the  bed  and  wept,  or  sat 
in  a  chair,  staring  into  space  with  unseeing  eyes. 
They  brought  her  food,  but  she  would  not  touch 
it;  they  tempted  her  with  wine,  with  coffee,  but 
for  nothing  would  she  open  the  door.  "Bring 
me  Harley's  letter  when  it  comes,"  was  all  she 
would  say. 


SYLVIA  LOSES  295 

§3 

ON  the  morning  of  the  next  day  her  mother 
came  to  her.  "Has  the  letter  come?"  asked 
Sylvia. 

The  mother  hesitated,  and  so  Sylvia  knew  that 
it  had  come.  "Give  it  to  me!"  she  cried. 

"It  was  addressed  to  your  father,  Sylvia " 

"Where  is  Papa?" 

She  started  to  the  door.  But  "Miss  Margaret" 
stood  in  her  way.  "Your  father,  my  child,  has 
asked  your  Uncle  Basil  to  come  over."  And 
then,  as  Sylvia  persisted,  "Sylvia,  you  can't  talk 
of  such  things  to  your  father.  He  thinks  it  is  a 
matter  which  your  Uncle  Basil  ought  to  attend 
to.  Please  spare  your  father,  Sylvia — he  has  been 
ill,  and  this  has  been  such  a  dreadful  blow  to 
him!" 

"But  for  God's  sake,  Mamma,  what  is  in  the 
letter?" 

"It  justifies  our  worst  fears,  my  child.  But 
you  must  be  patient — it  is  not  a  thing  that  a 
young  girl  can  deal  with.  Where  is  your  modesty, 
Sylvia?  Your  father  will  lose  respect  for  you  if 
you  do  not  calm  yourself.  You  ought  to  be 
hating  the  man  who  has  so  disgraced  you — who 
cares  no  more  for  you — " 

"Hush!"  cried  Sylvia.  "You  must  not  say  it! 
You  don't  know  that  it  is  true!" 

"But  it  is  true!  You  will  see  that  it  is  true. 
And  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  to  cling 
to  a  man  who  has  been  willing  to — to — oh,  what 


296  SYLVIA 

a  shameful  thing  it  is!  Sylvia,  get  yourself  to 
gether,  I  implore  you — do  not  let  your  father 
and  your  uncle  see  you  in  such  a  state  about  a 
man — an  unworthy  man!" 

So  there  was  another  hour  of  distracted  waiting, 
until  the  Bishop  came  up,  his  gentle  face  a  pic 
ture  of  grief.  "Miss  Margaret"  fled,  and  Sylvia 
shut  and  locked  the  door,  and  turned  upon  her 
uncle.  "Now,  Uncle  Basil,  let  me  see  the  letter." 

He  put  it  into  her  hands  without  a  word.  There 
was  also  a  newspaper-clipping,  and  she  glanced 
first  at  that,  and  went  sick  with  horror.  There 
was  Frank's  picture,  and  that  of  another  man, 
with  the  label:  "Harvard  student  who  may  die 
as  a  result  of  injuries  received  in  a  brawl." 
Sylvia's  eyes  sped  over  the  reading  matter  which 
went  with  the  pictures;  it  was  from  one  of  the 
sensational  papers,  the  kind  which  revel  in  per 
sonal  details,  and  so  she  had  the  whole  story. 
Frank  had  got  into  a  fight  with  a  man  hi  a 
"resort,"  and  had  knocked  him  down;  in  falling, 
the  man  had  struck  his  head  against  a  piece  of 
furniture,  and  the  doctors  had  not  yet  deter 
mined  whether  his  skull  was  fractured.  In  the 
meantime,  Frank  was  held  in  three  thousand 
dollars  bail.  The  account  went  on  to  say  that 
the  arrested  man  had  been  prominently  mentioned 
as  candidate  for  class-president,  on  behalf  of  the 
"Yard"  against  the  "Gold  Coast;"  also  that  he 
was  the  son  of  Robert  Shirley,  who  had  died  hi 
State's  prison  under  sentence  for  embezzlement. 

It  seemed  hardly  necessary  to  read  any  more; 


SYLVIA  LOSES  297 

but  Sylvia  turned  to  Harley's  letter,  which  gave 
various  additional  details,  and  some  comments. 
There  was  one  point  in  particular  which  etched 
itself  upon  her  mind:  " There  need  be  no  doubt 
as  to  the  character  of  the  place.  It  is  one  of  the 
two  or  three  high-class  houses  of  prostitution  in 
Boston  which  are  especially  patronized  by  college 
men.  This  is  not  mentioned  in  the  newspaper 
accounts,  of  course,  but  I  know  a  man  who  was 
present  and  saw  the  row,  so  there  can  be  no 
question  as  to  that  part  of  the  matter." 

Sylvia  let  the  letter  fall,  and  sulking  down  upon 
the  bed,  buried  her  face  in  her  arms.  The  Bishop 
could  see  her  form  racked  and  shuddering.  He 
came  and  sat  by  her,  and  put  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  waiting  in  silence.  "My  poor  child!" 
he  began  in  a  whisper,  at  last.  "My  poor,  poor 
child!" 

He  dared  not  let  her  suffer  too  long  without 
trying  to  help  her.  "My  dear,"  he  pleaded, 
"let  me  talk  to  you.  Make  an  effort,  hear  me. 
Sylvia,  you  have  to  bear  it.  My  heart  bleeds 
for  you,  but  there's  no  help — it  has  to  be  borne. 
Won't  you  listen  to  the  advice  of  an  old  man, 
who's  had  to  endure  terrible  grief,  and  shame — 
agony  almost  as  great  as  yours?" 

"Well?"  she  demanded,  suddenly.  Her  voice 
sounded  strange  and  hard  to  him. 

"Sylvia,  dear,  I  tried  to  prove  God's  words 
to  you  by  logic,  and  I  could  not.  God  was 
never  proved  by  logic,  my  child — men  don't 
believe  in  Him  for  that  reason.  They  believe 


298  SYLVIA 

because  at  some  awful  moment  they  could  not 
face  life  alone — because  suffering  and  grief  had 
broken  their  hearts,  and  they  were  forced  to 
pray.  Sylvia,  there  is  only  one  way  of  help  for 
you — and  that  is  through  prayer." 

He  waited  to  know  what  effect  his  words  were 
having.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  strange,  hard 
voice  again.  "Uncle  Basil." 

"Well,  my  child." 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  one  thing.  I  have  to 
understand  this,  but  I  can't — I  can't  ask  any 
body." 

"What  is  it,  Sylvia?" 

"I  want  to  know — do  men  do  such  things?" 

The  Bishop  answered,  in  a  low  tone,  "Yes, 
my  child,  I  am  sorry  to  say — many  of  them  do." 

"Oh,  I  hate  them!"  she  cried,  with  sudden 
fierceness.  "I  hate  them!  I  hate  life!  It's  a 
shameful,  hideous  world,  and  I  wish  that  I  could 
die!" 

"Ah,  don't  say  that,  my  child!"  he  pleaded. 
"I  beg  you  not  to  take  it  that  way.  If  we  let 
affliction  harden  us,  instead  of  chastening  and 
hiimbling  us,  then  we  miss  all  the  purpose  for 
which  it  is  sent.  Who  knows,  Sylvia — perhaps 
this  is  a  punishment  which  God  in  His  wisdom 
has  adjudged  you?" 

"Punishment,  Uncle  Basil?  What  have  / 
done?" 

"You  have  denied  His  word,  my  child.  You 
have  presumed  to  set  your  own  feeble  mind 
against  His  will  and  doctrine.  And  now " 


SYLVIA  LOSES 

"Oh,  Uncle  Basil,  stop!"  she  exclaimed.  "Your 
words  have  no  meaning  to  me  whatever!"  She 
buried  her  face  in  the  pillow,  and  terrible  sobbing 
shook  her,  burst  after  burst  of  it,  as  a  tempest 
shakes  a  tree.  "Oh,  I  loved  him  so!  I  loved 
him  so!" 

The  old  man  had  tried  speaking  as  a  Bishop; 
now  he  thought  that  the  time  had  come  for  him 
to  speak  as  a  Castleman.  His  voice  became 
suddenly  stern.  "Sylvia,"  he  said,  "the  man 
was  not  worthy  of  your  affection,  and  you  must 
manage  to  put  him  from  your  thoughts.  You 
are  the  child  of  a  proud  race,  Sylvia — the  daughter 
of  pure  women!  You  must  bear  this  trouble  with 
character,  and  with  the  consciousness  of  your 
purity." 

"Uncle  Basil,"  she  answered,  "please  go.  I 
can't  bear  to  talk  to  anyone  now.  I  must  be 
alone  for  a  while." 

He  rose  and  stood  hesitating.  "There's  no 
way  I  can  help  you?"  he  asked. 

"Nobody  can  help  me,"  she  answered 
"Thank  you,  Uncle  Basil,  but  please  go." 


§4 

AND  so  began  the  second  stage  of  Sylvia's 
ordeal.  For  days  she  roamed  the  house  like  a 
guilt-haunted  ghost.  She  could  hardly  be  got 
to  speak  to  any  one — she  avoided  even  people's 


300  SYLVIA 

eyes,  so  great  was  her  shame.  She  would  not 
eat,  and  she  could  not  sleep — at  least,  not  until 
she  had  managed  to  bring  herself  to  the  point 
of  utter  exhaustion.  Knowing  this,  she  would 
pace  the  room  until  she  sank  upon  the  bed  almost 
fainting.  In  their  terror  they  sent  for  the  doctors, 
but  these  could  do  nothing  for  her.  The  Major 
came  several  times  a  day,  and  made  timid  efforts 
to  talk  to  her  about  her  roses  and  the  new  plants 
he  had  got  for  her.  But  she  could  think  about 
nothing  but  Frank,  and  sent  him  away.  Once 
after  midnight  he  crept  to  her  room  and  found 
that  she  was  gone,  and  discovered  her  in  the 
rose-garden,  pacing  back  and  forth  distractedly, 
bare-footed  and  clad  only  in  her  nightgown.  He 
led  her  in,  and  found  that  her  feet  were  cut  and 
full  of  gravel  and  thorns;  but  she  did  not  mind 
this,  she  said — the  pain  was  good,  it  was  the  only 
way  to  distract  her  mind. 

What  made  the  thing  so  cruel  to  her  was  that 
element  of  obscenity  in  it,  which  was  like  an 
extinguisher  clapped  down  upon  her  mind,  making 
it  impossible  for  her  to  talk  of  it,  even  to  think 
of  it.  Sylvia  had  never  discussed  such  things, 
and  now  she  hated  Frank  for  having  forced  them 
upon  her.  She  felt  herself  degraded — made  vile 
to  the  whole  world,  and  to  her  own  soul.  She 
knew  that  everybody  she  met  was  thinking  one 
dreadful  thing;  she  felt  that  she  could  never 
face  the  world  again,  could  never  lift  up  her 
head  again.  She  had  given  her  heart  to  a  man 
to  keep,  and  he  had  taken  it  to  a  "  high-class 
house  of  prostitution!" 


SYLVIA   LOSES  301 

On  the  third  day  the  Major  came  to  her  room 
and  knocked.  He  had  a  painful  duty  to  perform, 
he  explained.  (He  did  not  add  that  there  had 
been  a  family-council  for  nearly  an  hour  past, 
and  that  he  had  been  assigned  to  execute  the 
collective  decision.)  There  had  come  a  letter — 
a  letter  addressed  to  Sylvia  from  Frank  Shirley. 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet.     "Give  it  to  me!" 

"My  daughter!"  exclaimed  the  Major,  with  a 
shocked  face. 

She  waited,  looking  at  him  with  wondering 
eyes.  "What  do  you  mean,  Papa?" 

He  took  the  missive  from  his  pocket,  and  held 
it  in  his  hand  as  he  spoke.  "Do  you  think,"  he 
asked,  "that  it  would  be  consistent  with  my 
daughter's  dignity  to  read  such  a  letter?  My 
child,  this  man  has  dragged  your  name  in  the 
mire;  do  you  think  that  you  ought  to  continue 
in  any  sort  of  relationship  with  him?  Is  he  to  be 
able  to  boast  that  he  had  you  so  under  his  thumb, 
that  even  after  such  an  outrage  as  he  had  inflicted 
upon  you "  . 

The  Major  stopped,  words  failing  him. 
"Papa,"  pleaded  Sylvia,  "might  there  not  be 
some  explanation?" 

"Explanation!"  cried  the  other.  "What  ex 
planation — that  my  daughter  could  read?"  His 
voice  fell  low.  "That  is  the  point — I  do  not 
wish  my  daughter's  mind  to  be  soiled  with  ex 
planations  of  this  subject.  Sylvia,  you  cannot 
know  about  it!" 

There  was  a  silence.  "What  do  you  want 
me  to  do,  Papa?" 


302  SYLVIA 

"There  is  but  one  thing  a  proud  woman  can 
do,  Sylvia.  Send  back  this  letter,  with  a  note 
saying  that  you  cannot  receive  communications 
from  Mr.  Shirley." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Sylvia  sank  down 
upon  the  bed,  and  he  heard  her  sobbing  softly  to 
herself.  " Sylvia!"  he  exclaimed,  "this  man  had 
your  affection — he  kissed  your  pure  young  lips!" 
He  saw  her  wince,  and  followed  up  his  advantage 
— "He  kissed  you  when  you  were  in  Boston,  did 
he  not?" 

She  could  hardly  bring  herself  to  answer. 
"Yes,  Papa." 

"And  do  you  realize  that  two  or  three  days 
later  he  had  gone  to  this — this  place?"  He 
paused,  while  the  words  sank  into  her  soul. 
"My  daughter,"  he  cried,  "where  is  your  pride?" 

There  was  something  commanding  in  his  voice. 
She  looked  up  at  him;  his  face  was  white,  his 
eyes  blazing.  "Sylvia,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are 
a  Castleman!  You  have  wept  enough!  Rise 
up,  my  daughter!" 

She  rose,  like  one  under  a  spell.  Yes,  it  was 
something  to  be  a  Castleman.  It  meant  to  be 
capable  of  bearing  any  torture  for  the  sake  of 
pride,  of  facing  any  danger  for  the  sake  of  honor. 
How  many  tales  she  had  heard  of  that  Castle 
man  honor!  Had  not  the  man  who  stood  before 
her,  the  captain  of  a  regiment  when  only  a  half- 
grown  youth,  marched  and  fought  with  a  broken 
shoulder-blade,  and  slept  in  mud  and  rain  with 
out  shelter  or  even  a  blanket,  living  for  weeks 
upon  an  allowance  of  six  grains  of  corn  a  day? 


SYLVIA  LOSES  303 

She  drew  herself  up,  and  her  face  became  cold 
and  set.  "Very  well,  Papa,"  she  said,  "he 
deserves  my  scorn." 

"Then  write  as  I  say."  And  he  stood  by  her 
desk  and  dictated: 

"Mr.  Shirley:  I  have  received  the  enclosed 
letter,  but  do  not  care  to  read  it.  All  relation 
ship  between  us  is  at  an  end.  Sylvia  Castleman." 

And  to  such  a  height  of  resolution  had  she 
been  lifted  by  her  Castleman  pride,  that  she 
addressed  an  envelope,  and  took  Frank's  letter, 
and  folded  it  and  put  it  inside,  and  sealed  and 
stamped  the  envelope,  and  gave  it  to  her  father. 
Nor  did  she  give  a  sign  of  pain  or  grief  until 
after  she  had  dismissed  him,  and  closed  and 
locked  the  door. 


§5 

IN  the  days  that  followed,  Sylvia's  longing  for 
her  sweetheart  overcame  her  pride  many  tunes; 
she  paced  her  room,  tearing  at  the  neck  of  her 
gown  like  one  suffocating,  flinging  out  her  arms 
in  abandonment  of  grief,  crying  under  her  breath 
(for  she  must  not  let  others  know  that  she  was 
suffering),  "Oh,  Frank,  Frank!  How  could  you?" 
Anger  would  come;  she  hated  him — she  hated 
all  men!  But  again  the  memory  of  his  slow  smile, 
his  straight-forward  gaze,  his  voice  of  sincerity. 
She  would  find  herself  whispering,  incoherently, 
"My  love!  My  love!" 


304  SYLVIA 

For  the  sake  of  her  family,  she  labored  to 
repress  her  feelings.  But  she  would  have  night 
mares,  and  would  toss  and  moan  in  her  sleep, 
sometimes  screaming  aloud.  Once  she  awakened, 
bathed  in  tears,  and  hearing  faint  sobbing,  put 
out  her  hand,  and  found  her  mother,  crouching 
in  the  darkness,  watching,  weeping. 

They  besought  her  to  let  her  mind  be  diverted 
by  others.  For  many  days  there  was  a  regular 
watch  kept,  with  family  consultations  daily,  and 
some  one  always  deputed  to  be  with  her — or  at 
least  to  be  near  her  door.  Little  by  little,  as  she 
yielded  to  their  persuasions,  Sylvia  got  the  views 
of  the  various  members  of  her  family  upon  what 
had  occurred. 

Aunt  Varina  put  her  arms  about  her  and  wept 
with  her.  "Oh,  it  is  horrible,  Sylvia,"  she  said — 
"but  think  how  much  better  that  you  should 
find  it  out  before  it's  too  late!  Oh,  dear  girl,  it 
is  so  awful  to  find  it  out  when  it's  too  late." 
Thus  the  voice  of  Aunt  Varina's  wasted  life! 

Aunt  Nannie  came  later,  as  tactful  as  could 
have  been  expected.  She  did  not  say,  "I  told 
you  so,"  but  she  managed  to  leave  with  Sylvia 
the  idea  that  the  outcome  was  within  the  limits 
of  human  understanding.  It  was  a  matter  of 
"bad  blood;"  and  "bad  blood"  was  like  mur 
der — it  would  always  out.  Also  Aunt  Nannie 
ventured  to  hint  that  it  might  be  that  Sylvia 
had  allowed  Frank  Shirley  to  "take  liberties" 
with  her;  and  this,  of  course,  made  its  impres 
sion  upon  the  girl,  who  persuaded  herself  that  she 
must  be  partly  to  blame  for  her  own  disgrace. 


SYLVIA  LOSES  305 

She  became  bitter  against  men;  she  did  not 
see  how  she  could  ever  tolerate  the  presence  of 
one.  Her  mother,  discussing  the  subject,  re 
marked,  "The  reason  I  married  your  father  was 
that  he  was  the  one  good  man  I  knew." 

"How  did  you  know  that  he  was  good?"  de 
manded  the  girl. 

"Sylvia!"  exclaimed  her  mother,  in  horror. 

"But  how?    Because  he  told  you  so?" 

"Miss  Margaret"  answered  hesitatingly,  choos 
ing  her  words  for  a  difficult  subject.  "I  had 
heard  things.  Your  Aunt  Lady  told  me — how 
the  young  men  in  your  father's  set  had  tried  to 
get  him  to — to  live  the  wicked  life  they  lived. 
They  made  fun  of  him — called  him  'Miss 
Nancy' — ".  She  broke  off  suddenly.  "I  can 
not  talk  about  such  things  to  my  daughter!" 

Even  from  "Aunt  Mandy,"  the  old  "black 
mammy"  who  had  been  the  first  person  to  hold 
Sylvia  in  her  arms,  the  girl  now  received  counsel. 
"Aunt  Mandy"  served  the  coffee  in  the  early 
morning,  and  stood  in  the  bedrooms  and  grinned 
while  the  ladies  of  the  family  gossiped;  she  often 
took  part  in  the  conversation,  having  gathered 
stores  of  family  wisdom  in  her  sixty-odd  years. 
"Honey,  I'se  had  my  cross  to  bear,"  she  said  to 
Sylvia,  and  went  on  to  discuss  the  depravity  of 
the  male  animal.  "Fse  had  to  beat  my  old  man 
wid  a  flatiron,  when  I  ketched  him  lookin'  roun' 
too  much — an'  even  dat  didn't  help  much,  honey. 
Now  I  got  dem  boys  o'  mine,  what's  allus  up  in 
cou't,  makin'  de  Major  come  to  pay  jail-fines. 

20 


306  SYLVIA 

But  how  kin  I  be  cross  wid  'em,  when  I  knows 
it's  my  own  fault?" 

"Your  fault,  Mammy?"  said  Sylvia.  "Why, 
you  are  as  good  a  mother ' 

"I  know,  honey,  I'se  tried  to  be  good;  I'se 
prayed  to  de  Lord — yes,  I'se  took  dem  boys  to 
de  foot  o'  de  cross.  But  de  Lord  done  tole  me 
it's  my  fault.  'Mandy,'  he  says,  'Mandy — look 
at  de  daddy  you  give  dem  niggers!'  Oh, honey, 
take  dis  from  yo'  ole  mammy,  ef  you'se  gwine 
ter  bring  any  chillun  into  de  worl' — be  careful 
what  kind  of  a  daddy  you  gives  'em!" 

The  family  had  gathered  in  a  solid  phalanx 
about  Sylvia.  Uncle  Barry,  whose  plantation 
was  a  hundred  miles  away,  and  who  was  a  most 
hard-working  and  domestic  giant,  left  his  over 
seers  and  his  family  and  came  to  beg  her  to  let 
him  give  her  a  hunting-party.  Uncle  Mande- 
ville  came  from  New  Orleans  to  urge  her  to  go 
to  a  house-party  he  would  give  her.  Uncle 
Mandeville  it  was  who  had  assured  Sylvia  as  a 
little  girl  that  he  would  protect  her  honor  with 
his  life;  and  now  he  caused  it  to  be  known  through 
out  Castleman  County  that  if  ever  Frank  Shu-ley 
returned  and  attempted  to  see  his  niece,  he, 
Frank  Shirley,  would  be  "shot  like  a  dog."  And 
this  was  not  merely  because  Uncle  Mandeville 
was  drunk,  but  was  something  that  he  soberly 
meant,  and  that  everybody  who  heard  him  under 
stood  and  approved. 

Just  how  tight  was  the  cordon  around  her, 
Sylvia  learned  when  Harriet  Atkinson  arrived, 


SYLVIA  LOSES  307 

fresh  from  a  honeymoon-voyage  to  the  Mediter 
ranean  and  the  Nile. 

"Why,  Sunny,  what's  this?"  she  demanded. 
"Why  wouldn't  you  see  me?" 

"See  you?"  echoed  Sylvia.  "What  do  you 
mean.  I  haven't  refused  to  see  you."  It  trans 
pired  that  Harriet  had  been  writing  and  'phoning 
and  calling  for  a  week,  being  put  off  in  a  fashion 
which  would  have  discouraged  anyone  but  the 
daughter  of  a  self-made  Yankee.  "I  suppose," 
she  said,  "they  thought  maybe  I'd  come  from 
Frank  Shirley." 

Sylvia's  face  clouded,  but  Harriet  went  on — 
"My  dear,  you  look  like  a  perfect  ghost!  Really, 
this  is  horrible!"  So  she  set  to  work  to  console 
her  friend  and  drag  her  out  of  her  depression. 
"You  take  it  too  seriously,  Sunny.  Beauregard 
says  you  make  a  lot  more  fuss  about  the  thing 
than  it  deserves.  If  you  knew  men  better " 

"Oh  don't,  Harriet!"  cried  the  other.  "I  can't 
listen  to  such  things!" 

"I  know,"  said  Harriet,  "there  you  are — the 
thing  I've  always  scolded  you  for!  You'll  never 
be  happy,  Sunny,  while  you  persist  in  demanding 
more  than  life  will  give.  You  say  what  you  want 
men  to  be — and  paying  no  attention  at  all  to 
what  they  really  are." 

"Are  you  happy?"  asked  Sylvia,  trying  to 
change  the  subject. 

"About  as  I  expected  to  be,"  said  the  other. 
"I  knew  what  I  was  marrying.  The  only  trouble 
is  that  I  haven't  been  very  well.  I  suppose  it's 


308  SYLVIA 

too  much  rambling  about.  I'll  be  glad  to  settle 
down  in  my  home."  She  was  going  to  Charleston 
to  live  in  the  old  Dabney  Mansion,  she  explained; 
at  present  she  was  paying  a  flying  visit  to  her 
people. 

''Well,  Sunny,"  she  remarked,  "you  are  going 
to  give  him  up?" 

"How  can  I  do  otherwise,  Harriet?" 

"I  suppose  you  couldn't — with  that  adamantine 
pride  of  yours.  And  of  course  it  was  awkward 
that  he  had  to  get  into  the  papers.  But  Beau 
says  these  things  blow  over  sooner  than  one 
would  expect.  Nobody  thinks  it's  half  as  bad 
as  they  all  pretend  to  think  it."  (Harriet,  you 
must  understand,  felt  rather  sorry  for  Frank,  and 
thought  that  she  was  pleading  his  cause.  She 
did  not  understand  that  her  few  words  would  do 
more  to  damn  him  than  all  that  the  family  had 
been  able  to  say.)  , 

But  she  perceived  that  Sylvia  did  not  want  to 
talk  about  the  subject.  "Well,  Sunny,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause,  "I  see  you've  got  a  substitute 
ready." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  asked  Sylvia,  dully. 

"I  mean  your  Dutch  friend." 

"My  Dutch  friend?  Oh — you  are  talking  about 
Mr.  van  Tuiver?" 

uYou  are  most  penetrating,  Sylvia!" 

"You've  heard  about  him?"  said  the  other, 
without  heeding  her  friend's  humor. 

"Heard  about  him!  For  heaven's  sake,  what 
else  can  one  hear  about  hi  Castleman  County 
just  now?" 


SYLVIA  LOSES  309 

Sylvia  said  nothing  for  a  while.  "I  suppose," 
she  remarked,  at  last,  "it's  because  I  came  in  a 
special  train." 

"My  dear,"  said  the  other,  "it's  because  he 
came  in  a  special  train." 

"He  came?"  repeated  Sylvia,  puzzled. 

And  her  friend  stared  at  her.  "Good  Lord," 
she  said,  "I  believe  you  really  don't  know  that 
Mr.  van  Tuiver's  in  town!" 

Sylvia  started  as  if  she  had  been  struck.-  "Mr. 
van  Tuiver  in  town!"  she  gasped. 

"Why,  surely,  honey — he's  been  here  three 
or  four  days.  How  they  must  be  taking  care  of 
you!" 

"'Sylvia  sprang  to  her  feet.      "How  perfectly 
outrageous!"  she  cried. 

"What,  Sunny?     That  you  haven't  seen  him?" 

"Harriet,  stop  joking  with  me!" 

"But  I'm  not  joking  with  you,"  said  Harriet, 
bewildered.  "What  in  the  world  is  the  matter?" 

Sylvia's  face  was  pale  with  anger.  "I  won't 
see  him!  I  won't  see  him!  He  has  no  right  to 
come  here!" 

"But  Sunny — what's  the  matter?  What's  the 
man  done?" 

"He  wants  to  marry  me,  Harriet,  and  he's 
come  here — oh,  how  shameful!  how  insulting! 
At  such  a  time  as  this!" 

"But  I  should  think  this  was  just  the  tune  for 
him  to  come!"  said  Harriet,  laughing  in  spite  of 
herself.  "Surely,  Sylvia,  if  you  haven't  gone 
formally  into  mourning " 


310  SYLVIA 

"I  won't  see  him!"  cried  the  other,  passionately. 
"He  must  be  made  to  understand  it  at  once — 
he'll  gain  nothing  by  coming  here!" 

"But,  Sunny,"  suggested  her  friend,  "hadn't 
you  better  wait  until  he  tries  to  see  you?" 

"Where  is  he,  Harriet?" 

"He's  staying  with  Mrs.  Chilton." 

"With  Aunt  Nannie!"  Sylvia  stood,  staring 
at  Harriet  with  sudden  fear  in  her  face.  She 
saw  now  why  van  Tuiver  had  made  no  attempt 
to  see  her,  why  nothing  had  been  said  to  her  as 
yet!  She  clenched  her  hands  tightly  and  ex 
claimed,  "I  won't  marry  him!  They  sha'n't  sell 
me  to  him — they  sha'n't,  they  sha'n't!" 

Her  friend  was  gazing  at  her  in  wonder,  not 
unmixed  with  alarm.  "Good  God,  Sunny,"  she 
exclaimed,  "can  he  be  so  bad  that  you'd  refuse 
to  marry  him?" 


§6 

ALL  this  while,  you  must  understand,  there 
was  Sylvia's  "world"  outside,  looking  on  at  the 
drama — pitying,  wondering,  gossiping,  speculat 
ing.  Frank  arrested,  Frank  out  on  bail!  Frank 
let  off  with  a  fine,  because  the  man  did  not  die! 
Frank  leaving  college  and  coming  back  to  his 
plantation!  Would  he  try  to  see  Sylvia,  and 
what  would  Sylvia  do  about  it?  Would  Mande- 
ville  Castleman  carry  out  his  threat  to  shoot  him? 
How  was  Sylvia  taking  it,  anyway?  Would  she 


SYLVIA  LOSES  311 

be  seen  at  the  next  club-dance?  And  then — 
interest  piled  upon  interest — Douglas  van  Tuiver 
had  come!  Was  it  true  that  the  Yankee  Croesus 
wanted  to  marry  Sylvia?  Was  it  true  that  he 
had  already  asked  her?  Could  it  be  that  she  had 
actually  refused  to  see  him?  And  what  would 
the  family  do  about  that? — All  this,  you  under 
stand,  most  decorously,  most  discreetly — and  yet 
with  such  thrills,  such  sensations! 

When  the  audience  is  stirred,  the  actors  know 
it;  and  people  so  sensitive  and  proud  as  the 
Castlemans  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  that  the 
world's  attention  was  focussed  upon  them.  So 
Sylvia  was  not  left  for  long  to  indulge  her  grief. 
As  soon  as  her  relatives  had  made  sure  of  her 
breach  with  Frank,  they  turned  then*  energies 
to  persuading  her  to  present  a  smiling  front  to 
"society."  "You  must  not  let  people  see  that 
you  are  eating  your  heart  out  over  a  man!" — 
such  was  their  cry.  There  were  few  things  worse 
that  could  happen  to  a  woman  than  to  have  it 
known  that  she  was  grieving  about  a  man.  Just 
as  a  savage  laughs  at  his  enemies  while  they  are 
torturing  him,  so  must  a  woman  wear  a  smile 
upon  her  face  while  her  heart  was  breaking. 

From  the  first  moment,  of  course,  her  old  suitors 
rallied  to  protect  her — a  kind  of  outer  phalanx, 
auxiliary  to  the  family.  They  wrote  to  her, 
they  sent  flowers,  they  called  and  lingered  hi 
the  hope  that  she  might  see  them.  When  the 
time  for  the  club-dance  came,  the  siege  of  the 
suitors  became  a  general  assault.  A  dozen  times 


312  SYLVIA 

a  day  came  her  mother  or  Aunt  Varina  to  plead 
with  her,  to  scold  her.  "I  don't  want  to  dance — 
I  couldn't  dance!"  she  wailed;  but  it  would  be, 
"Here's  Charlie  Peyton  on  the  'phone — he  begs 
you  to  speak  to  him  just  a  moment.  Go,  Sylvia, 
please — don't  let  people  think  you  are  so  weak!" 

At  last  she  told  one  man  that  he  might  call. 
Malcolm  McCallum  it  was — the  same  who  had 
crawled  upon  his  knees  to  prove  his  devotion  to 
her.  She  had  long  ago  convinced  him  that  his 
suit  was  hopeless,  so  now  he  was  able  to  plead 
with  her  without  offense.  Her  friends  wanted 
so  to  help  her — would  she  not  give  them  a  chance? 
They  were  indignant  because  of  the  way  a  scoun 
drel  had  treated  her;  they  wanted  somehow  to 
show  her  their  loyalty,  their  devotion.  If  only 
she  would  come — such  a  tribute  as  she  would 
receive!  And  surely  she  was  not  going  to  give 
up  her  whole  life,  because  of  one  such  fellow! 
She  had  so  many  true  friends — would  she  punish 
them  all  for  the  act  of  one?  No,  they  would  not 
have  it!  No,  not  if  they  had  to  raid  the  house 
and  carry  her  away!  The  belle  of  Castleman 
Hall  should  not  wither  up  and  be  an  old  maid! 

Sylvia  promised  to  think  it  over;  and  then  came 
Aunt  Nannie,  to  protest  in  the  name  of  all  her 
cousins  against  her  inflicting  further  notoriety 
upon  the  family.  For  Sylvia  to  be  exhibiting 
such  unseemly  grief  over  Frank  Shirley  was  almost 
as  bad  as  to  be  engaged  to  him.  She  must  posi 
tively  take  up  her  normal  life  again;  she  must 
go  to  this  dance! 


SYLVIA  LOSES  313 

Sylvia,  perceiving  that  it  would  be  necessary 
to  have  the  matter  out  sooner  or  later,  inquired, 
"Is  Mr.  van  Tuiver  to  be  there?" 
She  was  surprised  at  the  answer,  "He  is  not." 
"Where  is  he?"  she  asked;  and  learned  that 
the  visitor  had  gone  with  two  of  the  boys  on  a 
fishing-trip.  Sylvia  and  her  aunt  exchanged 
looks — as  two  swordsmen  might,  while  their 
weapons  are  being  measured  and  the  ground  laid 
out  for  their  duel.  The  girl  could  imagine  what 
had  happened,  almost  as  well  as  if  she  had  been 
present.  Van  Tuiver,  with  his  usual  crude  ego 
tism,  had  come  post-haste  to  Castleman  Hall; 
it  was  Aunt  Nannie  who  had  persuaded  him  to 
wait,  and  let  her  handle  the  affair  with  tact. 
Sylvia  must  first  be  drawn  out  into  social  life, 
and  then  it  would  be  less  easy  for  her  to  avoid 
van  Tuiver.  But  although  Sylvia  felt  sure  of 
this,  she  could  not  say  so.  When  she  hinted  the 
charge,  her  aunt  had  a  shrewd  retort  ready: 
"I  have  daughters  of  my  own — and  may  I  not 
have  plans  of  my  own  for  so  eligible  a  young 
man  as  Douglas  van  Tuiver?" 


§  7 

SYLVIA  said  that  she  would  go  to  the  dance; 
and  great  was  the  excitement,  both  at  home  and 
abroad.  All  day  long,  between  fits  of  weeping, 
she  labored  to  steel  herself  to  the  ordeal.  When 


314  SYLVIA 

night  came,  she  let  herself  be  arrayed  in  rosy 
chiffon,  and  then  went  all  to  pieces,  and  fell  upon 
the  bed  hi  a  paroxysm,  declaring  that  she  could 
not,  could  not  go.  One  by  one  came  "Miss 
Margaret,"  Aunt  Varina,  and  Celeste,  scolding  her, 
beseeching  her — but  all  in  vain;  until  at  last 
they  sent  for  the  Major,  who,  wiser  than  all  of 
them,  arrayed  himself  in  his  own  evening  finery, 
and  put  a  white  rosebud  in  his  button-hole,  and 
then  went  with  cheerful  face  and  breaking  heart 
to  Sylvia's  room. 

"Come,  little  girl,"  he  said.  "Daddy's  all 
ready." 

Sylvia  sat  up  and  stared  at  him  through  her 
tears.  "You!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Why,  of  course,  honey,"  he  smiled.  "Didn't 
you  know  your  old  Papa  was  going  with  you?" 

Sylvia  had  not  known  it,  nor  had  anybody  else 
known  it  up  to  a  few  minutes  before.  Her  sur 
prise  (for  the  Major  almost  never  went  to  dances) 
was  sufficiently  great  to  check  her  tears;  and 
then  came  "Miss  Margaret"  with  a  glassful  of 
steaming  "hot  toddy."  "My  child,"  she  said, 
"drink  this.  You've  had  no  nourishment — that's 
why  you  go  to  pieces." 

So  they  washed  her  face  again,  and  powdered 
it  up;  they  straightened  her  hair  and  smoothed 
out  the  wrinkles  hi  her  dress,  and  got  her  bows 
and  ribbons  hi  order,  and  took  her  down  stairs 
to  where  Aunt  Nannie  was  waiting,  grim  and 
resolute — a  double  force  of  chaperones  for  this 
emergency! 


SYLVIA  LOSES  315 

You  can  imagine,  perhaps,  the  excitement  when 
they  reached  the  club-house;  how  the  whisper 
went  round,  and  the  swains  crowded  in  the  door 
way  to  wait  for  her.  The  younger  ones  cheered 
when  she  entered — "Hi,  yi!  Whoop  la!  Miss 
Sylvia."  They  came  jumping  and  capering  across 
the  ball-room  floor — one  of  them  tearing  a  great 
palmetto-leaf  from  the  decorations  on  the  wall, 
and  performing  a  wonderful,  sprawling  salaam 
before  her.  "I'm  the  King  of  the  Cannibal 
Islands!"  he  proclaimed.  "Will  you  be  my 
Queen,  Miss  Sylvia?"  Several  others  locked 
arms  and  executed  a  cake-walk,  by  way  of  mani 
festing  their  delight.  The  dance  of  the  country- 
club  was  turned  into  a  reception  in  her  honor. 
They  worshipped  her  for  having  come — it  took 
nerve,  by  George,  and  nerve  was  the  thing  they 
admired.  And  then  how  lovely  she  was — how 
perfectly,  unutterably  lovely!  Just  a  little  more 
suffering  like  this,  and  she  would  be  ready  to  be 
carried  up  in  a  chariot  of  fire  and  set  among  the 
seraphim! 

Of  course,  in  the  face  of  such  a  welcome,  it 
was  unthinkable  that  she  should  not  carry  the 
thing  through  triumphantly.  In  the  refreshment- 
room  were  egg-nogg  and  champagne-punch,  and 
she  drank  enough  to  keep  her  in  a  glow,  to  carry 
her  along  upon  wings  of  excitement.  One  by  one 
her  old  sweethearts  came  to  claim  a  dance  with 
her,  and  one  by  one  they  caused  her  to  under 
stand  that  hope  was  springing  eternal  hi  their 
breasts.  She  found  herself  so  busy  keeping  them 


316  SYLVIA 

in  order  that  life  seemed  quite  as  it  had  always 
been  in  Castleman  County. 

Save  for  one  important  circumstance.  There 
had  come  a  new  element  into  its  atmosphere — 
something  marvellously  stimulating,  transcending 
and  overshadowing  all  that  had  been  before. 
Sylvia  found  out  about  it  little  by  little;  the 
first  hint  coming  from  old  Mrs.  Tagliaferro — the 
General's  wife,  you  may  remember.  She  had 
come  to  Sylvia's  debut  party,  hobbling  with  a 
gold-headed  cane;  but  now,  the  General  having 
died,  she  had  thrown  away  her  cane,  and  chap 
eroned  her  great-grandchildren  at  dances,  because 
otherwise  people  would  think  she  was  getting 
old.  She  shook  a  sprightly  finger  at  the  belle 
of  the  evening,  and  demanded,  "  What's  this 
I  hear,  my  child,  about  your  latest  conquest? 
I  always  knew  you'd  be  satisfied  with  nothing 
less  than  a  duke!"  Sylvia's  face  clouded,  and  the 
other  went  on  her  way  with  a  knowing  cackle. 
"Oh,  you  can't  fool  me  with  your  haughty  looks!" 

And  then  came  Mabel  Taylor,  a  girl  who  had 
been  a  hopeless  wallflower  in  her  early  days, 
and  had  been  saved  because  Sylvia  took  pity 
upon  her,  and  compelled  men  to  ask  her  to  dance. 
Now  she  was  Sylvia's  jealous  rival;  and  greeting 
her  hi  the  dressing-room  she  whispered,  "Sylvia, 
is  he  really  in  love  with  you?" 

When  Sylvia  asked,  "Who?"  the  other  replied, 
"Oh,  it's  a  secret,  is  it!" 

The  girl  perceived  that  she  must  take  some 
line  at  once.  "Are  you  really  going  to  marry 


SYLVIA  LOSES  317 

him?"  asked  Charlie  Peyton,  with  despair  in  his 
voice.  "We  can't  stand  that  sort  of  competi 
tion!"  protested  Harvey  Richards.  "We  shall 
have  to  have  a  protective  tariff,  Miss  Sylvia!" 
(Harvey,  as  you  may  recall,  was  a  steel  manu 
facturer.) 

The  thing  had  got  upon  Sylvia's  nerves.  "Are 
you  so  completely  awed  by  that  man?"  she 
demanded,  in  a  voice  of  intense  irritation. 

"Awed  by  him?"  echoed  Harvey. 

"Why  don't  you  at  least  mention  his  name? 
You  are  the  fourth  person  who's  talked  to  me 
about  him  to-night  and  hasn't  dared  to  utter 
his  name.  I  believe  it's  not  customary  for  Kings 
to  use  their  family  names,  but  they  have  Christian 
names,  at  least." 

"Why,  Miss  Sylvia!"  exclaimed  the  other. 

"Let'us  give  him  a  title,"  she  pursued,  savagely. 
"Kingj,  Douglas  the  First,  let  us  say!"  And 
imagine  the  seven  pairs  of  swift  wings  which 
that  ^saying  took  unto  itself!  She  called  him  a 
King!  King  Douglas  the  First!  She  referred  to 
him  as  Royalty — she  made  fun  of  him  as  openly 
and  recklessly  as  that!  "What  sublimity!" 
exclaimed  her  admirers.  "What  a  pose!"  re 
torted  her  rivals. 

But  even  so,  they  could  not  but  envy  her  the 
pose,  and  the  consistency  with  which  she  adhered 
to  it.  She  could  not  be  brought  to  discuss  the 
King — whether  he  was  in  love  with  her,  whether 
he  had  asked  her  to  marry  him,  whether  he  had 
come  South  on  her  account;  nor  did  she  show 


318  SYLVIA 

any  particular  signs  of  being  impressed  by  him — 
as  if  she  really  did  not  consider  him  imposing,  or 
especially  elegant,  or  hi  any  way  unusual.  Oh, 
but  they  were  a  haughty  lot,  those  Castlemans — 
and  Sylvia  was  the  haughtiest  of  them  all!  The 
country-club  began  to  revise  its  estimates  of 
Knickerbocker  culture,  and  to  remember  that, 
after  all,  the  only  real  blood  in  America  was  in 
the  South. 


§8 

THE  next  afternoon  came  Harriet  Atkinson,  to 
bid  Sylvia  farewell,  and  incidentally  to  congratu 
late  her  upon  her  triumph.  After  they  had 
chatted  for  a  while,  she  put  her  hand  upon  her 
friend's,  and  remarked  in  a  serious  tone,  "  Sunny, 
I've  had  a  letter  from  Frank  Shirley." 

She  felt  the  hand  quiver  in  hers,  and  she  pressed 
it  more  firmly.  "He  wanted  to  explain  things 
to  me,"  she  said. 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Sylvia,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

But  Harriet  did  not  answer.  "I  wrote  to  him," 
she  continued,  "that  I  declined  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  matter."  Seeing  her  friend's 
lip  beginning  to  tremble,  she  added,  "Sunny,  I 
did  it  for  your  own  good — believe  me.  I  don't 
want  you  to  open  up  things  with  that  man  again." 

"Why  not,  Harriet?" 

"After  what's  happened,  you  ought  to  know 


SYLVIA  LOSES  319 

that  your  people  would  never  stand  for  it — 
there'd  surely  be  some  kind  of  a  shooting-scrape. 
And  even  supposing  that  you  got  away  with 
him — what  sort  of  an  existence  would  you  have? 
Frank  Shirley  is  no  money-maker,  and  somehow 
I  don't  seem  to  feel  that  you  were  cut  out  for 
cottage-life." 

She  stopped  and  fixed  her  gaze  upon  her  friend. 
" Sunny,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  marry  the 
other  man."  Then,  as  Sylvia  started — "Don't 
ask  me  what  other  man.  I'm  no  Mabel  Taylor." 

Sylvia  perceived  that  her  words  were  being 
cherished  these  days.  "Harriet,"  she  exclaimed 
in  an  agitated  voice,  "I  can't  endure  Douglas 
van  Tuiver." 

"Now,  Sunny,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me. 
This  may  be  the  last  chance  I'll  have  to  talk  to 
you — I'm  going  off  to-morrow,  to  settle  down  to 
domestic  virtue.  I  want  to  give  it  to  you  straight 
— to  take  the  place  of  your  Aunt  Lady  in  this 
crisis.  You  fall  in  love  at  first  sight,  and  it 
brings  you  wonderful  thrills,  and  you  marry  on 
the  strength  of  it — and  then  in  a  year  or  two  the 
thrills  are  gone,  and  where  are  you?  Take  my 
advice,  Sunny,  therels  a  whole  lot  more  in  life 
than  this  young-love  business.  Try  to  look 
ahead  a  little  and  realize  the  truth  about  your 
self.  If  ever  there  was  a  creature  born  to  be 
a  sky-lark,  it's  you;  and  here's  a  man  who  could 
take  you  out  and  give  you  a  chance  to  spread 
your  wings.  For  God's  sake,  Sunny,  don't  throw 
the  chance  away,  and  settle  down  to  be  a  barn 
yard  fowl  here  in  Castleman  County." 


320  SYLVIA 

"Harriet!"  cried  Sylvia,  frantically,  "I  tell  you 
I  can't  endure  the  man!" 

"I  know,  Sunny — but  that's  just  nonsense. 
You're  hi  love  with  one  man,  and  of  course  it 
sets  you  wild  to  think  of  another.  But  women 
can  get  used  to  things;  and  one  doesn't  have  to 
be  too  intimate  with  one's  husband.  The  man 
is  dead  in  love  with  you,  and  so  you'd  always 
be  able  to  manage  him.  I  told  you  that  about 
Beau — and  I  can  assure  you  I've  found  it  a  con 
venient  arrangement.  From  what  I  can  make 
out,  Mr.  van  Tuiver  isn't  a  bad  sort  at  all — he 
seems  to  have  charmed  everybody  down  here. 
He's  not  bad  looking,  and  he  certainly  has  wonder 
ful  manners.  He  can  go  anywhere  in  the  world, 
and  if  he  had  you  to  manage  him  and  do  things 
with  him — really,  Sunny,  I  can't  see  what  more 
you  could  want!  Certainly  it's  what  your  family 
wants — and  after  all,  you'll  find  it's  nice  to  be 
able  to  please  your  people  when  you  marry. 
I  know  how  you  despise  money,  and  all  that — 
but,  Sylvia,  there  aren't  many  fortunes  made  out 
of  cotton  planting  these  days,  and  if  you  could 
hear  poor  Beau  tell  about  what  his  folks  have 
been  through,  you'd  understand  that  family  pride 
without  cash  is  like  mustard  without  meat!" 

So  Harriet  went  on.  She  was  a  sprightly  young 
lady,  and  generally  able  to  hold  her  audience; 
but  after  several  minutes  of  this  exhortation,  she 
stopped  and  asked,  "Sunny,  what  are  you  think 
ing  about?" 

And  Sylvia,  her  face  grown  suddenly  old  with 


SYLVIA  LOSES  321 

grief,  caught  her  by  the  hand.  "Oh,  Harriet," 
she  whispered,  "tell  me  the  truth — do  you  think 
I  ought  to  hear  his  explanation?" 


§9 

THEEE  were  more  dances  and  entertainments; 
and  each  time,  of  course,  it  was  harder  for  Sylvia 
to  escape.  She  had  been  to  one,  and  so  people 
would  expect  her  at  the  next.  There  was  always 
somebody  who  would  be  hurt  if  she  refused,  and 
there  was  always  that  dreadful  phenomenon 
called  "people" — it  would  say  that  the  task  had 
been  too  much  for  her,  that  she  was  still  under 
the  spell  of  the  man  who  had  flaunted  her.  So 
evening  after  evening  Sylvia  would  choke  back 
her  tears,  and  drink  more  coffee,  and  go  forth  and 
pretend  to  be  happy. 

It  was  at  the  third  of  these  entertainments 
that  she  met  Douglas  van  Tuiver.  No  one  had 
told  her  of  his  return — she  had  no  warning  until 
she  saw  him  enter  the  room.  She  had  to  get 
herself  together  and  choose  her  course  of  action, 
with  the  eyes  of  the  whole  company  upon  her. 
For  this  was  the  meeting  about  which  Castleman 
County  had  been  gossiping  and  speculating  for 
weeks — the  rising  of  the  curtain  upon  the  second 
act  of  the  thrilling  drama! 

He  was  his  usual  precise  and  formal  self; 
unimpeachably  correct,  and  yet  set  apart  by  a 

21 


322  SYLVIA 

something — a  reserve,  a  dignity.  This  extended 
even  to  his  costume,  which  tolerated  no  casual 
wrinkle,  no  presumptuous  speck.  There  was 
always  just  a  slight  difference  between  van 
Tuiver's  attire  and  that  of  other  men — and  some 
how  you  knew  that  this  was  the  difference  between 
the  best  and  the  average. 

It  seemed  strange  to  Sylvia  to  see  him  here, 
in  her  old  environment;  strange  to  compare  him 
with  her  own  people.  She  realized  that  she  would 
have  to  treat  Him  differently  now,  for  he  was  a 
stranger,  a  guest.  She  discovered  also  a  differ 
ence  in  him.  He  may  have  been  touched  by  the 
change  he  saw  in  her;  at  any  rate  he  was  very 
gentle,  and  very  cautious.  He  asked  for  a  dance, 
and  promised  that  he  would  not  ask  for  more. 
To  her  great  surprise  he  kept  the  promise. 

"Miss  Sylvia,"  he  said,  when  they  strolled  out 
after  the  dance,  "may  I  call  you  Miss  Sylvia, 
as  they  all  seem  to  here?  I  want  to  explain  some 
thing,  if  you  will  let  me.  I'm  afraid  that  my 
being  here  will  seem  to  you  an  impertinence. 
I  hope  you  will  accept  my  apology.  When  I  got 
back  to  Cambridge  I  learned  from  your  cousin 
what — what  the  news  would  mean  to  you;  and 
I  came  because  I  thought  perhaps  I  might  help. 
It  was  absurd,  I  suppose — but  I  didn't  know. 
Then,  when  I  got  here,  I  did  not  dare  to  ask  to 
see  you.  I  don't  know  now  it  you  will  send  me 
away " 

He  stopped.  "I  am  sure,  Mr.  van  Tuiver," 
she  said,  quietly,  "you  have  a  perfect  right  to 
stay  here  if  you  wish." 


SYLVIA  LOSES  323 

"No  right,  Miss  Sylvia,  but  the  right  you 
give  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  won't  take  refuge 
in  quibbles.  I  thought  that  if  I  promised  not  to 
bother  you,  and  really  kept  the  promise — if  I 
never  asked  to  see  you  unless  you  desired  it 

It  was  not  easy  to  send  him  away  upon  those 
terms.  She  did  not  see  what  good  it  would  do 
him  to  stay,  but  she  refrained  from  asking  the 
question.  He  paused — perhaps  to  make  sure 
that  she  would  not  ask.  "Miss  Sylvia,"  he 
continued,  finally,  "I  am  afraid  you  will  laugh 
at  me — but  I  want  to  be  near  you,  I  don't  want 
to  be  anywhere  else.  I  want  to  see  the  world 
you  belong  in;  I  want  to  know  your  relatives  and 
your  friends — your  home,  the  places  you  go  to — 
everything.  I  want  to  hear  people  talk  about 
you.  And  at  the  same  time  I'm  uncomfortable, 
because  I  know  you  dislike  me,  and  I'm  afraid 
I'll  anger  you,  just  by  being  here.  But  if  you 
send  me  away — you  see,  I  don't  know  where  to 

He  stopped,  and  there  was  a  long  silence. 
"You  are  missing  your  examinations,"  she  said, 
at  last. 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  Harvard,"  he 
replied.  "I've  lost  all  interest — I  shall  never  go 
back." 

"But  how  about  the  reforms  you  were  going 
to  work  for?  Have  you  lost  interest  in  them?" 

He  hesitated.  "They've  all— don't  you  see?" 
He  stopped,  embarrassed.  "The  movement's 
gone  to  pieces." 


324  SYLVIA 

"Oh!"  said  Sylvia,  and  felt  a  slow  fire  of  shame 
mounting  in  her  cheeks.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
her  to  think  of  the  plight  of  the  would-be  revolu 
tionists  of  the  "Yard"  after  their  candidate  had 
landed  himself  in  jail. 

They  turned  to  go  in,  and  van  Tuiver  asked, 
timidly,  "You  won't  send  me  away,  Miss  Sylvia?" 

"I  wish,"  she  answered,  "that  you  would  not 
put  the  burden  of  any  such  decision  upon  me." 
And  so  the  matter  rested,  van  Tuiver  apparently 
content  with  what  he  had  gamed.  Sylvia's  next 
partner  claimed  her,  and  she  did  not  see  "King 
Douglas  the  First"  again;  a  circumstance  which, 
needless  to  say,  was  duly  noted  by  Castleman 
County,  to  its  great  mystification.  Could  it  be 
that  rumor  was  mistaken — that  he  was  not  really 
after  Sylvia  at  all?  Could  it  be  that  her  flouting 
of  "Royalty"  was  a  common  case  of  "sour 
grapes"? 


§  10 

SYLVIA  would  not  be  content  to  drift  and  suffer 
indefinitely.  It  was  not  her  nature  to  give  up 
and  acknowledge  failure,  but  to  make  the  best 
of  things.  Her  thoughts  turned  to  those  in  her 
own  home,  and  how  she  could  help  them. 

All  through  the  tragedy  she  had  been  aware 
of  her  father,  moving  about  the  house  like  a 
ghost,  silent,  wrung  with  grief;  her  heart  bled 
for  the  suffering  she  had  caused  him.  Her  chief 


SYLVIA  LOSES  325 

thought  was  to  make  it  up  to  him,  to  be  cheerful 
and  busy  for  his  sake — to  put  him  into  the  place 
in  her  heart  which  Frank  Shirley  had  left  empty. 
After  all,  he  was  the  one  man  she  could  really 
trust — the  one  who  was  good  and  true  and 
generous. 

She  sought  him  out  one  night,  while  the  light 
was  burning  in  his  office.  She  drew  up  a  chair 
and  sat  close  to  him,  so  that  she  could  look  into 
his  eyes.  "Papa,"  she  said,  "I've  been  think 
ing  hard — and  I  want  to  tell  you,  I'm  going  to 
try  to  be  good." 

"You  are  always  good,  my  child,"  he  declared. 

"I  have  been  selfish  and  heedless.  But  now 
I'm  going  to  think  about  other  people — about 
you  most  of  all.  I  want  to  do  the  things  I  used 
to  be  happy  doing  with  you.  Let  us  begin 
to-morrow  and  take  care  of  our  roses,  and  have 
beautiful  flowers  again.  Won't  that  be  nice, 
Daddy?" 

There  were  tears  in  his  eyes.  "Yes,  dear," 
he  said. 

"And  then  I  must  begin  and  read  to  you. 
I  know  you  are  using  your  eyes  too  much,  and 
mine  are  young.  And  Papa — this  is  the  prin 
cipal  thing — I  want  you  to  let  me  help  you  with 
the  accounts,  to  learn  to  be  of  some  use  to  you 
in  business  ways.  No,  you  must  not  put  me  off, 
because  I  know— truly  I  know." 

"What  do  you  know,  dear?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"I  know  you  work  too  hard,  and  that  you 
have  things  to  worry  you,  and  that  you  try  to 


326  SYLVIA 

hide  them  from  me.  I  know  how  many  bills 
there  are,  and  how  everybody  wastes  money, 
and  never  thinks  of  you.  I've  done  it  myself, 
and  now  it's  Celeste's  turn — she  must  have 
everything,  and  be  spared  every  care,  and  write 
checks  whenever  she  pleases.  Papa,  if  it's  true 
that  this  year's  crop  is  ruined,  you'll  have  to 
borrow  money— 

"My  child!"  he  began,  protestingly. 

"I  know — you  don't  want  me  to  ask.  But 
see,  Papa — if  I  married,  I'd  have  to  know  about 
my  husband's  affairs,  and  help  him,  wouldn't  I? 
And  now  that  I  shall  never  marry — yes,  I  mean 
that,  Papa.  I  want  you  not  to  try  to  marry 
me  off  any  more,  but  to  let  me  stay  at  home 
and  be  a  help  to  you  and  Mamma." 

The  other  was  shrewd  enough  to  humor  her. 
They  would  get  to  work  at  the  roses  in  the 
morning,  and  they  would  take  up  Alexander  H. 
Stephens'  Confederate  History  without  delay; 
also  Sylvia  might  take  the  bills  as  they  came 
in  each  month,  and  find  out  who  had  ordered 
what,  and  prevent  the  tradesmen  from  charging 
for  the  same  thing  twice  over.  But  of  course, 
he  did  not  tell  her  any  of  his  real  worries,  nor 
let  her  see  his  bank-books  and  accounts;  nor 
could  he  quite  see  his  way  to  promise  that  Aunt 
Nannie  should  let  her  alone  while  she  settled  into 
old-maidenhood. 

Aunt  Nannie  came  round  the  next  morning, 
as  it  happened.  Sylvia  did  not  see  her,  being 
up  to  the  wrists  in  black  loam  in  the  rose-garden; 


SYLVIA  LOSES  327 

but  she  learned  the  purpose  of  the  visit  at  lunch- 
time.  "Sylvia,"  said  her  mother,  "do  you  think 
it's  decent  for  us  to  go  much  longer  without 
inviting  Mr.  van  Tuiver  over  here?" 

"Do  you  think  he  wants  to  come?"  asked 
Sylvia,  with  a  touch  of  her  old  mischief. 

"Your  Aunt  Nannie  seems  to  think  so,"  was 
the  reply — given  quite  naively.  "I  wrote  to  ask 
him  to  dinner.  I  hope  you  won't  mind." 

Sylvia  said  that  she  would  find  some  way  to 
make  the  occasion  tolerable.  And  she  found 
a  quite  unique  way.  It  was  one  of  her  times 
for  bitterness,  when  she  hated  the  world,  and 
especially  the  male  animals  upon  it,  and  herself 
for  a  fool  for  not  having  known  about  them. 
It  chanced  to  be  the  same  day  of  the  week  that 
she  had  prepared  for  Frank's  coming,  and  had 
introduced  him  to  the  family  with  so  many 
tremblings  and  agonies  of  soul.  So  now,  when 
she  came  to  dress,  she  picked  out  the  gown  she 
had  worn  that  evening,  and  had  them  bring  her 
a  bunch  of  the  same  kind  of  roses:  which  seemed 
to  her  a  perfectly  diabolical  piece  of  [cynicism — 
like  to  the  celebrating  of  a  "black  mass"! 

She  descended,  radiant  and  lovely,  in  a  mood 
of  somewhat  terrible  gaiety.  She  laughed  and 
all  but  sang  at  the  dinner-table;  she  joked  with 
van  Tuiver,  and  flouted  him  outrageously — and 
in  the  next  breath  charmed  and  delighted  him, 
to  the  bewilderment  of  the  family,  who  knew 
nothing  about  her  adventures  with  Royalty,  and 
the  various  strange  moods  to  which  its  presence 
drove  her. 


328  SYLVIA 

In  the  course  of  that  meal  she  told  him  a 
story — one  of  the  wildest  and  most  wonderful  of 
her  stories.  So  at  least  it  seemed  to  me,  who 
for  years  have  been  longing  for  a  poet  to  take 
it  up  and  make  a  ballad  of  it — a  real  American 
ballad!  It  is  curious,  but  I  can  hear  the  very 
rhyme  and  rhythm  of  that  ballad,  which  I  cannot 
write.  I  wonder  if  I  may  not  awaken  in  some 
grey  dawn,  and  find  it  all  complete,  singing  itself 
in  my  mind! 

The  story  of  the  burning  of  "Rose  Briar,"  it 
was.  "Rose  Briar"  was  the  old  home  of  one  of 
the  Peytons,  which  had  stood  for  three  genera 
tions  on  a  high  bluff  on  the  river-bank  a  mile  or 
so  from  Sylvia's  home.  It  had  the  largest  and 
most  beautiful  ball-room  in  the  county,  and  was 
a  centre  of  continuous  hospitality.  One  night 
had  come  a  telephone-message  to  the  effect  that 
it  was  on  fire,  and  the  neighbors  gathered  from 
miles  around;  on  a  wild  night,  with  a  gale  blowing 
and  the  whole  roof  and  upper  part  of  the  house  in 
flames,  they  saw  that  the  place  was  doomed. 

And  there  was  the  splendid  ball-room,  in  which 
they  and  their  fathers  and  their  grandfathers  had 
celebrated  so  many  festivities !  '  *  One  last  dance !' ' 
cried  the  young  folks,  and  in  they  trooped.  The 
servants  were  trying  to  get  the  piano  out,  but 
the  master  of  the  house  himself  stopped  them — 
what  was  a  piano  hi  comparison  to  a  romantic 
thrill?  So  one  played,  and  the  rest  danced — 
danced  while  the  fire  roared  deafeningly  in  the 
stories  above  them,  and  creeping  veils  of  smoke 


SYLVIA  LOSES  329 

gathered  about  their  heads.  They  danced  like 
mad  creatures,  laughing,  singing  in  chorus.  Eddy 
ing  gusts  of  flame  poured  in  at  the  windows,  and 
still  they  sang — 

"When  you  hear  dem  bells  go  ting-a-ling-a-ling, 
All  join  hands  and  sweetly  we  will  sing — 

There'll  be  a  hot  time  in  the  old  town  to-night!" 

And  so  on,  until  there  came  a  crashing  of  rafters 
above  them,  and  showers  of  cinders  and  burning 
wood  through  the  windows.  Then  they  fled,  and 
gathered  hi  a  group  upon  the  lawn,  and  watched 
the  roof  of  their  pleasure-house  fall  in,  sending  a 
burst  of  flame  and  sparks  to  the  sky. 

And  here,  thought  Sylvia,  was  the  roof  of  her 
pleasure-house  falling  hi!  There  was  something 
terrifying  in  the  symbol;  the  house  of  civilization 
was  falling  in,  and  people  were  dancing,  dancing! 
"Don't  you  feel  that,  Mr.  van  Tuiver?"  she 
asked.  "It  seems  to  me  sometimes  that  I  can 
see  the  world  going  to  destruction  before  my 
eyes,  and  people  don't  know  about  it,  they  don't 
care  about  it.  They  are  dancing,  drunk  with 
dancing!  On  with  the  dance!" 

She  laughed,  a  trifle  hysterically,  for  her  nerves 
were  near  the  breaking  point.  Then  she  happened 
to  look  towards  her  sister  Celeste,  and  caught  a 
strange  look  in  her  eyes.  She  took  hi  the  mean 
ing  of  it  hi  an  instant — Celeste  was  conscious  of 
the  presence  of  Royalty,  and  shocked  by  this 
display  of  levity  upon  a  solemn  occasion !  ' '  Sister, 


330  SYLVIA 

how  dare  you?"  the  look  seemed  to  say;  and  the 
message  gave  a  new  fillip  to  the  mad  steeds  of 
Sylvia's  fancy.  "Never  mind,  Chicken!"  she 
laughed.  ("Chicken"  was  a  childhood  nickname, 
which,  needless  to  say,  was  infuriating  to  a  young 
lady  soon  to  make  her  dgbut.)  "Never  mind, 
Chicken!  The  roof  will  last  till  you've  had  your 
dance!" 

And  then,  the  meal  at  an  end,  Sylvia  took  her 
guest  into  the  library.  -She  put  him  in  the 
same  chair  that  Frank  haa  occupied,  and  turned 
on  the  same  lights  upon  her  loveliness;  she  took 
her  seat,  and  looked  at  him  once,  and  smiled 
alluringly — and  then  suddenly  looked  away,  and 
bit  her  lip  until  it  bled,  and  sprang  up  and  fled 
from  the  room,  and  rushed  upstairs  and  flung 
herself  upon  her  bed,  sobbing,  choking  with  her 
grief. 


§  11 

THERE  were  ups  and  downs  like  this.  The 
next  day,  of  course,  Sylvia  was  ashamed  of  her 
behavior;  she  had  promised  to  be  happy,  and 
not  to  distress  her  people — and  this  was  the 
way  she  kept  her  promise.  She  began  to  make 
new  resolutions,  and  to  think  of  ways  of  atoning. 
She  took  her  father  out  into  the  garden,  and 
pretended  deep  interest  in  the  new  cinnamon  - 
roses.  She  spent  a  couple  of  hours  going  over 
his  old  check-stubs  and  receipted  bills,  and  with 


SYLVIA  LOSES  331 

evidence  thus  discovered  went  into  town  and 
made  a  row  with  a  tradesman,  and  saved  her 
father  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars. 

Then,  after  lunch,  she  took  him  for  a  drive 
behind  the  new  pony  which  Uncle  Mandeville 
had  given  her.  She  got  him  out  into  the  country, 
and  then  opened  up  on  him  in  unexpected  fashion. 
"Papa,  it  isn't  possible  for  people  like  us  to  econ 
omize,  is  it?" 

"Not  very  much,  my  child,"  he  answered 
smiling.  "Why?" 

"I've  been  thinking,"  she  said.  "It's  all 
wrong — but  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it. 
You  spent  so  much  money  on  me;  I  didn't  want 
it,  but  I  didn't  realize  it  till  it  was  too  late.  And 
now  comes  Celeste's  turn,  and  you  have  to  spend 
as  much  on  her,  or  she'll  be  jealous  and  angry. 
And  Peggy  and  Maria  will  see  what  Celeste  gets, 
and  they  will  demand  their  turn.  And  the  Baby 
— he's  smashing  his  toys  now,  and  in  a  few  years 
he'll  be  smashing  windows,  and  in  a  few  more 
he'll  be  gambling  like  Clive  and  Harley.  And 
you  can't  do  anything  about  any  of  it!" 

"My  child,"  he  said,  "I  don't  want  you  to 
worry  about  such  things " 

"No,  you  want  to  do  all  the  worrying  your 
self.  But,  Papa,  I  have  to  make  my  life  of  some 
use.  Since  I  can't  earn  money,  I've  been  think 
ing  that  perhaps  the  most  sensible  thing  would 
be  for  me  to  marry  some  rich  man,  and  then 
help  all  my  family  and  friends." 

"Sylvia,"  protested  the  Major,  "I  don't  like 


332  SYLVIA 

one  of  my  daughters  to  have  such  thoughts  in 
her  mind.  I  don't  want  a  child  of  mine  to  marry 
for  money — there  is  no  need  of  it,  there  never 
will  be!" 

"Not  while  you  can  sit  up  all  night  and  worry 
over  accounts.  But  some  day  you  won't  be 
able  to,  Papa.  I  can  see  that  you're  under  a 
strain,  and  yet  I  can't  get  you  to  let  me  help 
you.  If  you  make  sacrifices  for  me,  why  shouldn't 
I  make  them  for  you?" 

"Not  that  kind  of  a  sacrifice,  my  child.  It's 
a  terrible  thing  for  a  woman  to  marry  for 
money." 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  Papa?  So  many 
women  do  it.  Are  they  all  bad,  and  are  they  all 
unhappy?" 

Thus  Sylvia — trying  to  do  her  duty,  and  keep 
her  mind  occupied.  They  got  back  home,  and 
she  found  new  diversions — Castleman  Lysle  had 
been  feeding  himself  in  the  kitchen,  and  had 
been  picked  up  black  in  the  face  with  convulsions. 
This,  you  understand,  was  one  of  the  features  of 
life  at  Castleman  Hall;  one  baby  had  been  lost 
that  way,  since  which  time  "Miss  Margaret" 
always  faulted  when  it  occurred.  As  poor  Aunt 
Varina  had  not  the  physical  strength  for  such 
emergencies,  Sylvia  had  to  get  a  tub  of  hot 
water,  and  hold  the  child  in  it — while  some  one  else 
held  a  spoon  in  his  mouth,  in  order  that  he  might 
not  chew  his  tongue  to  pieces! 

Thus  the  afternoon  passed  busily,  and  in  the 
evening  was  the  spring  dance  of  the  Young 


SYLVIA  LOSES  333 

Matrons'  Cotillion  Club.  Sylvia  absolutely  had 
to  go  to  that,  in  order  to  dance  with  Douglas 
van  Tuiver  and  atone  for  her  rudeness.  She 
had  promised  it  by  way  of  pacifying  Aunt  Nannie; 
and  also  her  father  had  made  plans  to  accom 
pany  her  again. 

So  she  put  on  a  new  "cloth  of  silver"  gown 
which  she  had  bought  in  New  York,  and  drank 
a  " toddy"  of  the  Major's  mixing,  and  sallied 
forth  upon  his  arm.  There  were  lights  and  music, 
happy  faces,  cheery  greetings — so  she  was  up 
lifted,  dreaming  of  happiness  again.  And  then 
came  the  most  dreadful  collapse  of  all. 

She  had  strolled  out  upon  the  veranda  with 
Stanley  Pendleton.  Feeling  chilly,  she  sent  her 
partner  hi  for  a  wrap;  and  then  suddenly  came 
a  voice — his  voice! 

If  it  had  been  his  ghost,  Sylvia  could  not 
have  been  more  startled.  She  whirled  about  and 
stared,  and  saw  him — standing  in  the  semi- 
darkness  of  the  garden,  close  to  the  railing  of 
the  veranda.  It  had  rained  that  day,  and  the 
roads  were  deep  in  mire,  and  he  had  ridden  far. 
His  clothing  was  splashed  and  his  hair  in  dis 
array;  as  for  his  face — never  had  Sylvia  seen 
such  grief  on  a  human  countenance. 

"Sylvia!"  he  whispered.  "Sylvia!"  She  could 
only  gaze  at  him,  dumb.  "Sylvia,  give  me  one 
minute!  I  have  come  here  to  tell  you " 

He  stopped,  his  voice  breaking  with  intensity 
of  feeling.  "Oh!"  she  gasped.  "You  ought 
not  to  be  here!" 


334  SYLVIA 

"I  had  to  see  you!"  he  exclaimed.  "There 
was  no  other  way " 

But  he  got  no  farther.  There  was  a  step 
behind  Sylvia,  and  she  turned,  and  at  the  same 
moment  heard  the  terrible  voice  of  her  father — 
"What  does  this  mean?" 

She  sprang  to  him  with  a  quick  cry.  "Papa!" 
She  caught  his  arm  with  her  hands,  trying  to 
stop  what  she  feared  he  might  do.  "No,  Papa, 
no!"  For  one  moment  the  Major  stood  staring 
at  the  apparition  in  the  darkness. 

She  could  feel  him  trembling  with  fury.  "Sir, 
how  dare  you  approach  my  daughter?" 

"Papa,  no!"  exclaimed  Sylvia,  again. 

"Sir,  do  you  wish  to  make  it  necessary  for  me 
to  shoot  you?" 

Then  Frank  answered,  his  voice  low  and  vibrant 
with  pain.  "Major  Castleman,  I  would  be 
grateful  to  you." 

The  other  glared  at  him  for  a  moment;  then  he 
said,  "If  you  wish  to  die,  sir,  choose  some  way 
that  will  not  drag  my  daughter  to  disgrace." 

Frank's  gaze  had  turned  to  the  girl.  "Sylvia," 
he  exclaimed,  "I  tell  you  that  I  went  to  that 
place 

"Stop!"  almost  shouted  the  Major. 

"Major  Castleman,"  said  Frank,  "Allow  me 
to  speak  to  your  daughter.  It  has  been " 

Sylvia  was  clutching  her  father  in  terror.  She 
knew  that  he  had  a  weapon,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  using  it;  she  knew  also  that  she  had 
not  the  physical  force  to  prevent  him.  She  cried 
hysterically,  "Go!  Go  away!" 


SYLVIA  LOSES  335 

And  Frank  looked  at  her— a  last  look,  that  she 
never  forgot  all  the  days  of  her  life.  "You  mean 
it,  Sylvia?"  he  asked,  his  voice  breaking. 

"I  mean  it!"  she  answered. 

"Forever?" 

For  the  smallest  part  of  a  second  she  hesitated. 
"Forever!"  commanded  her  father;  and  she 
echoed,  "Forever!"  Frank  turned,  without  an 
other  word,  and  was  gone  in  the  darkness;  and 
Sylvia  fell  into  her  father's  arms,  convulsed  with 
an  agony  that  shook  her  frame. 


§  12 

THEY  got  her  home,  where  her  first  action,  m 
spite  of  her  exhaustion,  was  to  insist  upon  seeing 
her  Uncle  Mandeville.  So  determined,  so  vehe 
ment  she  was,  that  it  was  necessary  to  rout  the 
worthy  gentleman  out  from  a  poker-game  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  There  had  been  other 
witnesses  of  what  Frank  had  done,  and  Sylvia 
knew  that  her  uncle  must  hear;  so  she  told  him 
herself,  with  her  arms  about  him,  clinging  to  him 
in  frenzy,  and  beseeching  him  to  give  her  his 
word  of  honor  that  he  would  not  carry  out  his 
threat  against  Frank  Shirley. 

It  was  not  an  easy  word  to  get;  she  would 
probably  have  failed,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
Major.  He  could  see  the  force  in  her  argument 
that  a  shooting-affair  would  only  serve  to  publish 


336  SYLVIA 

the  matter  to  the  world,  and  make  it  seem  more 
serious.  After  all,  from  the  family's  point  of 
view,  the  one  thing  to  be  desired  was  to  make 
certain  that  there  would  be  no  further  communi 
cation  between  the  two.  And  Sylvia  was  willing 
to  assure  them  of  that,  she  declared.  She  rushed 
to  her  desk,  and  with  trembling  fingers  wrote  a 
note  to  "Mr.  Frank  Shirley,"  informing  him 
that  the  scene  which  had  just  occurred  had  been 
intolerable  to  her,  and  requesting  him  to  perform 
her  one  last  service — to  write  a  note  to  her 
father  to  the  effect  that  he  would  make  no  further 
attempt  to  communicate  with  her.  The  Major, 
after  some  discussion,  decided  that  he  would 
accept  this  as  a  settlement;  and  he  being  the 
elder  brother,  his  word  was  law  with  Mandeville 
— at  least  so  long  as  Mandeville  was  sober. 

I  remember  Sylvia's  account  of  the  state  of 
exhaustion  in  which  she  found  herself  after  this 
ordeal;  how  for  two  days  she  had  the  sensation 
that  her  mind  was  breaking  up.  Yet — a  circum 
stance  worth  noting — at  no  time  did  she  blame 
those  who  had  put  her  through  this  ordeal.  She 
could  not  blame  the  men  of  her  family;  if  any 
one  were  at  fault,  it  was  herself,  for  being  at  the 
mercy  of  her  emotions,  and  capable  of  a  secret 
longing  to  have  parleyings  with  a  man  who  had 
dragged  her  name  in  the  mire.  You  see,  Sylvia 
believed  hi  her  heritage.  She  was  proud  of  the 
Castlemans — and  apparently  you  could  not  have 
rare,  aristocratic  virtues  without  also  having 
terrifying  vices.  If  one's  men-folk  got  drunk  and 


SYLVIA  LOSES  337 

shot  people,  one's  consolation  was  that  at  least 
they  did  it  in  a  bold  and  striking  and  "  high- 
spirited"  way. 

You  will  perhaps  find  yourself  impatient  with 
the  girl  at  this  stage  of  her  story.  I  recall  my 
own  frantic  protests  while  I  listened.  What  a 
cruel,  needless  tragedy!  I  cried  out  for  the  evi 
dence  of  some  gleam  of  sense  on  the  part  of  any 
one  person  concerned.  Surely  Sylvia,  knowing 
Frank,  must  have  come  to  doubt  that  he  could 
have  been  unfaithful  to  her!  Surely,  with  the 
hints  she  got  at  that  meeting,  she  must  have 
realized  that  there  was  something  more  to  be 
said!  Surely  he,  on  his  part,  would  have  found 
some  way  of  getting  an  interview  with  her,  or 
at  least  of  sending  an  explanation  by  some  friend! 
Surely  he  would  never  have  given  up  until  he 
had  done  that! 

I  have  claimed  for  Sylvia  the  possession  of  clear 
sightedness.  She  displayed  it  when  it  was  a  ques 
tion  of  revising  her  religion,  she  displayed  it  when 
it  was  a  question  of  managing  her  family,  and 
obtaining  permission  to  be  engaged  to  a  convict's 
son.  But,  if  you  look  to  see  her  display  anything 
of  that  sort  in  the  present  emergency,  you  will 
look  hi  vain.  Sylvia  could  be  bold  in  a  matter 
of  theology,  she  could  be  bold  in  a  matter  of 
love,  but  she  could  not  possibly  be  bold  in  a  mat 
ter  of  a  house  of  prostitution.  If  I  were  to  give 
you  illustrations  ofj  the  completeness  of  her  igno 
rance  upon  the  subject  of  sex,  you  would  simply 
not  be  able  to  believe  what  I  told;  and  not  only 


22 


338  SYLVIA 

was  she  ignorant,  she  could  not  conceive  that  it 
was  possible  for  her  to  be  other  than  ignorant. 
She  could  not  conceive  that  it  was  possible  for 
a  pure-minded  girl  to  talk  about  such  a  subject 
with  any  human  being,  man  or  woman. 

I  doubt  very  much,  if  it  had  come  to  an  actual 
test,  whether  Sylvia  would  have  been  capable  of 
marrying  against  her  family's  will.  She  had 
opposed  them  vehemently,  but  this  was  because 
she  knew  that  she  was  right,  and  that  they,  hi 
their  inmost  hearts,  knew  it  also.  The  Major 
and  "Miss  Margaret"  were  good  and  generous- 
hearted  people,  and  they  could  not  sincerely  con 
demn  Frank  Shirley  for  his  father's  offense.  But 
how  different  it  was  now!  In  the  present  matter 
she  faced  the  phalanx  of  the  family,  not  on 
an  open  field  where  she  could  manoeuvre  and 
outwit  them — but  in  a  place  of  darkness  and 
terror,  where  she  dared  not  stir  a  foot  alone. 

And  let  me  tell  you  also  that  you  mistake 
Frank  Shirley  if  you  count  upon  the  mere  physical 
fact  that  he  could  have  got  an  explanation  to 
Sylvia.  It  was  not  easy  for  him  to  explain  about 
such  matters  to  the  woman  he  loved;  and  if  you 
think  it  was  easy,  you  are  a  modern,  matter-of- 
fact  person,  not  understanding  the  notions  of  an 
old-fashioned  Southerner.  The  simple  fact  was 
that  when  Frank  wrote  to  Harriet  Atkinson,  to 
ask  her  to  hear  his  plea,  he  felt  that  he  was 
doing  something  desperate  and  unprecedented; 
and  when  Harriet  wrote,  coldly  refusing  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  matter,  he  felt  that  she 


SYLVIA  LOSES  339 

had  rebuked  him  for  his  boldness.  As  for  the  last 
effort  he  had  made  to  see  Sylvia,  it  was  the  act 
of  a  man  driven  frantic  by  love — a  man  willing 
to  sacrifice  his  life,  and  even  his  self-respect. 
I  have  portrayed  Frank  poorly  if  I  have  not  made 
you  realize  that  from  the  first  hour  he  approached 
Sylvia  with  a  sense  of  inferiority  and  of  guilt; 
that  he  had  remained  her  lover  against  the  inces 
sant  protests  of  his  pride.  People  are  making 
money  rapidly  these  days  in  the  South,  and  so 
becoming  like  us  " Yankees";  yet  it  will  be  a 
long  tune,  I  think,  before  a  Southerner  without 
money  will  make  love  to  a  rich  woman  without 
feeling  in  his  heart  that  he  is  acting  the  knave. 


§  13 

THERE  came  another  long  struggle  for  Sylvia, 
another  climb  out  of  the  pit.  For  the  sake 
of  her  father,  she  could  not  delay;  as  soon  as 
she  was  able  to  move  about,  she  was  out  among 
her  roses  again,  and  reading  Alexander  Stephens 
in  the  evenings.  Within  a  week  she  had  been 
to  a  card-party  and  a  picnic,  and  also  had  received 
a  call  from  Douglas  van  Tuiver. 

Never  before  had  Sylvia  worn  such  an  ethereal 
aspect;  he  was  gentle,  even  reverent,  hi  his 
manner  to  her.  He  had  a  particular  reason  for 
calling  to  see  her,  he  said.  He  owned  a  yacht, 
considered  quite  a  beautiful  vessel;  it  was  now 


340  SYLVIA 

in  commission,  but  idle,  and  he  had  taken  the 
liberty  of  ordering  it  to  the  Southern  coast,  and 
wished  to  beg  her  to  use  it  to  bring  the  color 
back  into  her  cheeks.  She  might  take  her  Aunt 
Varina,  her  sister — a  whole  party,  if  she  chose — 
and  cruise  up  the  coast,  to  Maine  and  the  St. 
Lawrence,  or  ovef  hi  the  North  Sea — wherever 
her  fancy  suggested.  He  would  go  with  her  and 
take  charge,  if  she  would  permit — or  he  would 
stay  behind,  and  be  happy  hi  the  knowledge  that 
she  was  recovering  her  health. 

Of  course,  Sylvia  could  not  accept  such  a  favor; 
she  insisted  that  it  was  impossible,  in  spite  of  all 
his  arguments  and  urgings.  She  thanked  him  so 
cordially,  however,  that  he  went  away  quite 
happy. 

Then  came  Mrs.  Chilton,  and  there  was  a  con 
clave  of  the  ladies.  Why  should  she  not  accept 
the  offer?  It  was  the  very  thing  she  needed  to 
divert  her  mind,  and  get  her  out  of  this  disgraceful 
state. 

"Aunt  Nannie,"  cried  the  girl,  "how  can  you 
think  of  wanting  me  to  accept  such  a  gift  from 
a  comparative  stranger?  It  must  cost  hundreds 
of  dollars  a  month  to  run  such  a  yacht!" 

"About  five  thousand  dollars  a  month,  my 
dear,"  said  the  other,  quietly. 

Sylvia  was  aghast;  once  in  a  while  even  a  fiery 
revolutionist  like  herself  was  awestricken  by  the 
actuality  of  Royalty.  "I  don't  want  things  like 
that,"  she  said,  at  last.  "I  want  to  stav  quietly 
at  home  and  help  Papa." 


SYLVIA   LOSES  341 

"You  need  a  change,"  declared  the  other. 
"So  long  as  you  are  here  you  are  never  safe  from 
that  evil  man;  and  anyway  you  are  surrounded 
by  reminders  of  him.  A  yachting-trip  would 
force  you  to  put  your  mind  on  other  things. 
The  sea-air  would  do  you  good;  and  if  you  took 
Celeste  with  you — think  what  a  treat  for  her!" 

"Oh,  Sylvia,  please  do!"  cried  Celeste. 

Sylvia  looked  at  her  sister.    "  You'd  like  to  go?" 

"Oh,  how  can  you  ask?"  she  replied.  "It 
would  be  heaven!" 

Sylvia  said  that  she  would  think  it  over.  But 
in  reality  she  wanted  to  think  about  something 
else.  She  waited  until  they  left  her  alone  with 
her  sister,  and  then  she  said,  "You  like  Mr.  van 
Tuiver,  don't  you?" 

"How  could  I  fail  to  like  him?"  asked  Celeste. 

The  other  tried  to  draw  her  out.  Why  did 
she  like  him?  He  had  such  beautiful  manners, 
such  dignity — there  were  no  loose  ends  about 
him.  He  had  been  everywhere,  met  everybody 
of  consequence;  compared  with  him  the  men  at 
home  seemed  like  country-fellows.  It  was  that 
indescribable  thing  called  elegance,  said  Celeste, 
gravely.  She  could  not  understand  her  sister's 
attitude  at  all;  she  thought  Sylvia  treated  van 
Tuiver  outrageously,  and  her  eyes  flashed  a 
danger-signal  as  she  said  it.  It  was  a  woman's 
right  to  reject  a  man's  advances  if  she  chose  to; 
but  she  ought  not  to  humiliate  him,  when  his 
only  offense  was  admiring  her  to  excess. 

"I  only  wish  it  was  you  he  admired,"  said 
Sylvia,  who  was  in  a  gentle  mood. 


342  SYLVIA 

"No  chance  of  that,"  remarked  the  other,  with 
a  touch  of  bitterness  in  her  voice.  "He  has  no 
eyes  or  ears  for  anybody  else  when  you  are 
about." 

"I'm  going  to  try  to  lend  him  eyes  and  ears," 
responded  Sylvia.  For  that  was  the  idea  that 
had  occurred  to  her — van  Tuiver  must  be  per 
suaded  to  transfer  his  interest  to  Celeste!  Celeste 
would  marry  him;  she  would  marry  him  without 
the  least  hesitation  or  distress;  and  then  the  elder 
sister  might  settle  down  with  her  family  and  her 
rose-gardens  and  her  Confederate  History! 


§  14 

SYLVIA  became  quite  excited  over  this  scheme. 
When  van  Tuiver  asked  permission  to  call  again, 
she  was  glad  to  say  yes;  but  she  kept  Celeste 
with  her,  guiding  the  conversation  so  as  to  show 
off  her  best  qualities.  But  alas,  "Little  Sister" 
had  no  qualities  to  be  shown  off  when  van  Tuiver 
was  about!  She  was  so  much  impressed  by  him 
that  she  trembled  with  stage  fright.  Usually  a 
bright  and  vivacious  girl,  although  somewhat 
hard  and  shallow,  she  was  now  dumb,  abject, 
a  booby!  Sylvia  raged  at  her  inwardly,  and 
when  van  Tuiver  had  taken  his  departure,  she 
said,  "Celeste,  how  can  you  expect  to  impress 
a  man  if  you  let  him  see  you  are  afraid  to  breathe 
in  his  presence?" 


SYLVIA  LOSES  343 

Tears  of  humiliation  came  into  her  sister's 
eyes.  "What's  the  use  of  talking  about  my 
impressing  him?  Can't  you  see  that  he  pays  no 
more  attention  to  me  than  if  I  were  a  doll?" 

"Make  him  pay  attention  to  you!"  cried  the 
other.  "Shock  him,  hurt  him,  make  him  angry 
— do  anything  but  put  yourself  under  his  feet!" 
She  went  on  to  give  a  lecture  on  that  awe-inspiring 
phenomenon,  the  Harvard  manner;  trying  to 
prove  to  her  sister  that  it  was  an  idol  with  feet 
of  clay,  which  would  topple  if  one  attacked  it 
resolutely.  She  told  the  story  of  her  own  meet 
ing  with  King  Douglas  the  First,  and  how  she 
had  been  able  to  subdue  him  with  cheap  effront 
ery,  But  she  soon  discovered  that  her  arguments 
were  thrown  away  upon  Celeste,  who  was  simply 
shocked  by  her  story,  and  had  no  more  the  desire 
than  she  had  the  power  to  subdue  van  Tuiver. 
At  first  Sylvia  had  thought  it  was  mere  awe  of 
his  millions,  but  gradually  she  realized  that  it 
was  something  far  more  serious — something  quite 
tragic.  Celeste  had  fallen  in  love  with  Royalty! 

But  still  Sylvia  could  not  give  up  the  struggle. 
It  would  have  been  such  a  marvelous  solution  of 
her  problem!  She  let  van  Tuiver  call  as  often 
as  he  wanted  to;  but  she  became,  all  at  once,  a 
phenomenon  of  sisterly  affection.  She  took 
Celeste  horse-back  riding  with  them — and  Celeste 
rode  well.  If  van  Tuiver  asked  to  go  automobiling, 
she  found  shrewd  excuses  for  having  Celeste  go 
also.  But  in  the  end  she  had  to  give  up — because 
of  the  "English  system,"  Van  Tuiver  did  not 


344  SYLVIA 

want  Celeste,  and  was  so  brutally  unaware  of 
her  existence  that  Celeste  came  home  with  tears 
of  humiliation  in  her  eyes.  Sylvia  went  off  by 
herself  and  shed  tears  also;  she  hated  van  Tuiver 
and  his  damnable  manners! 

She  realized  suddenly  to  what  extent  he  was 
boring  her.  He  came  the  next  day,  and  spent 
the  better  part  of  an  hour  talking  to  her  about 
his  experiences  among  the  elect  in  various  parts 
of  the  world.  He  had  been  shooting  last  fall 
upon  the  estates  of  the  Duke  of  Something  in 
Scotland.  You  went  out  in  an  automobile,  and 
took  a  seat  in  an  arm-chair,  and  had  several  score 
"beaters"  drive  tame  pheasants  towards  you; 
you  had  two  men  to  load  your  guns,  and  you  shot 
the  birds  as  they  rose;  but  you  could  not  shoot 
more  than  so  many  hundred  of  a  morning,  be 
cause  the  recoil  of  the  gun  gave  you  a  headache. 
The  Duke  had  a  couple  of  guns  which  were  some 
thing  special — he  valued  them  at  a  thousand 
guineas  the  pair. 

"Mr.  van  Tuiver,"  said  the  girl,  suddenly, 
"there  is  something  I  want  to  say  to  you.  I 
have  been  meaning  to  say  it  for  some  time. 
I  think  you  ought  not  to  stay  here  any  longer." 

His  face  lost  suddenly  its  expression  of  com 
placency.  "Why,  Miss  Sylvia!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  want  to  deal  with  you  frankly.  If  you  are 
here  for  any  reason  not  connected  with  me,  why 
all  right;  but  if  you  are  here  on  my  account, 
I  ought  not  to  leave  you  under  any  misappre 
hension." 


SYLVIA  LOSES  345 

He  tried  hard  to  recover  his  poise.  "I  had 
begun  to  hope" — he  began.  "You — are  you  sure 
it  is  true?" 

"I  am  sure.  You  realize  of  course — it's  been 
obvious  from  the  outset  that  my  Aunt  Nannie 
has  entered  into  a  sort  of  partnership  with  you, 
to  help  you  persuade  me  to  marry  you.  And 
of  course  there  are  others  of  my  friends — even 
members  of  my  family,  perhaps — who  would  be 
glad  to  have  me  do  it.  Also,  you  must  know  that 
I've  been  trying  to  persuade  myself."  Sylvia 
lowered  her  eyes;  she  could  not  look  at  him  as 
she  said  this.  "I  thought  perhaps  it  was  my 
duty — the  only  useful  thing  I  could  do  with  my 
life — to  marry  a  rich  man,  and  use  his  money  to 
help  the  people  I  love.  So  I  tried  to  persuade 
myself.  But  it's  impossible — I  could  not,  could 
not  do  it!" 

She  paused.  "Miss  Sylvia,"  he  ventured, 
"can  you  be  sure — perhaps  if  you  married  me, 
you  might " 

"No!"  she  cried.  "Please  don't  say  any  more. 
I  know  you  ought  not  to  stay!  I  could  never 
marry  you,  and  you  are  throwing  away  your  tune 
here.  You  ought  to  go!" 

There  was  a  silence.  "Miss  Sylvia,"  he  began, 
finally,  "this  is  like  a  death-sentence  to  me." 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "and  I'm  sorry.  But 
there's  no  help  for  it.  Putting  off  only  makes  it 
worse  for  you." 

"Don't  think  about  me,"  he  said.  "I've  no 
place  to  go,  and  nothing  better  I  can  be  doing. 


346  SYLVIA 

If  you'll  let  me  stay,  and  try  to  be  of  some 


service" — 


"No,"  she  declared,  "you  can  be  of  no  service. 
I  want  to  be  alone,  with  my  father  and  the  people 
I  love;  and  it  is  only  distressing  to  me  to  see  you." 

He  rose,  and  stood  looking  at  her,  crestfallen. 
"That  is  all  you  have  to  say  to  me,  Miss  Sylvia?" 

"That  is  all.  If  you  wish  to  show  your  regard 
for  me,  you  will  go  away  and  never  think  of  me 
again." 


§  15 

VAN  TTTIVER  went  away;  but  within  a  week  he 
was  back,  writing  Sylvia  notes  to  say  that  he  must 
see  her,  that  he  only  sought  her  friendship.  And 
then  came  Aunt  Nannie,  and  there  was  a  family 
conference — ending  not  altogether  to  Sylvia's 
advantage.  Aunt  Nannie  took  the  same  view 
as  Mrs.  Winthrop,  that  one  had  no  right  to 
humiliate  a  man  who  carried  such  vast  responsi 
bilities  upon  his  shoulders.  Sylvia  recurred  to 
her  old  phrase  "Royalty" — and  was  taken  aback 
when  her  aunt  wanted  to  know  just  what  were 
her  objections  to  Royalty.  Had  she  not  often 
heard  her  Uncle  Mandeville  say  that  there  ought 
to  be  a  king  in  America  to  counteract  the  influence 
of  Yankee  demagogs?  That  rather  took  the  wind 
out  of  Sylvia's  sails;  for  she  had  a  great  respect 
for  the  political  wisdom  of  her  uncles,  and  really 
could  give  no  reason  why  a  king  might  not  be 


SYLVIA   LOSES  347 

a  beneficent  phenomenon.  All  she  could  reply 
was  that  she  did  not  like  this  particular  king,  and 
would  not  see  him.  When  Aunt  Nannie  insisted 
that  van  Tuiver  had  been  a  guest  under  her  roof, 
and  that  Sylvia's  action  had  been  an  unheard  of 
discourtesy,  the  girl  said  that  she  was  willing  to 
apologize,  either  to  her  aunt  or  to  van  Tuiver — 
but  that  nothing  could  induce  her  to  let  him  call 
again. 

King  Douglas  went  off  to  Newport,  where  the 
family  of  Dorothy  Cortlandt  had  its  granite  cot 
tage;  and  so  for  two  months  Sylvia  enjoyed  peace. 
She  read  to  her  father,  and  played  cards  with 
him,  and  took  him  driving,  exercising  her  social 
graces  to  keep  him  from  drinking  too  many 
toddies.  I  could  wish  there  were  space  to  recite 
some  of  the  comical  little  dramas  that  were  played 
round  the  good  Major's  efforts  to  cheat  himself 
and  his  daughter,  and  exceed  the  number  of 
toddies  which  his  physician  allowed  to  him! 

Aunt  Nannie  being  away  at  the  coast,  it  was 
easier  for  the  girl  to  avoid  social  engagements, 
especially  with  the  excuse  that  her  father's  health 
was  poor,  and  his  plantation  duties  engrossing. 
There  had  been  an  overflow  in  the  early  spring, 
just  at  planting-time,  and  so  there  was  no  cotton 
that  year.  Fences  had  been  swept  away,  cattle 
drowned,  and  negro-cabins  borne  off  to  parts 
unknown.  The  Major  had  three  large  planta 
tions,  whose  negroes  must  be  kept  over  the  year, 
just  as  if  they  were  working.  Also  there  were 
small  farms,  rented  to  negro  tenants  who  had 


348  SYLVIA 

lost  everything;  they  had  to  be  taken  care  of — 
one  must  "hold  on  to  one's  niggers."  "Why 
don't  you  let  them  raise  corn?"  van  Tuiver  had 
inquired;  to  which  the  Major  answered,  "My 
negroes  could  no  more  raise  corn  than  they  could 
raise  ostriches." 

So  there  was  much  money  to  be  borrowed,  and 
money  was  "tight."  Everybody  wanted  it  from 
the  local  banks,  and  as  this  was  the  second  bad 
year,  the  local  banks  were  in  an  ungenerous  mood. 
Worse  than  that,  there  were  troubles  vaguely 
rumored  from  "Wall  Street."  What  this  meant 
to  Sylvia  was  that  her  father  sat  up  at  night  and 
worried  over  his  books,  and  could  not  be  got  to 
talk  of  his  affairs. 

But  what  distressed  her  most  was  that  there 
was  no  sign  of  any  effort  to  curtail  the  family's 
expenditure.  Aunt  Varina  and  the  children  were 
at  the  summer-home  in  the  mountains,  and  so 
there  were  two  establishments  to  be  kept  going. 
Also  Celeste  was  giving  house-parties,  and  order 
ing  new  things  from  New  York,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  she  had  come  home  from  school  with 
several  trunkloads  of  splendor.  The  Major's 
family  all  signed  his  name  to  checks,  and  all 
these  checks  were  like  chickens  which  came  home 
to  roost  in  the  pigeon-holes  hi  the  office-desk. 

In  the  fall  the  Major's  health  weakened  under 
the  strain,  and  the  doctor  insisted  that  he  must 
go  away  at  all  hazards.  Uncle  Mandeville  had 
taken  a  place  at  one  of  the  Gulf  Coast  resorts, 
and  Sylvia  and  her  father  were  urged  to  come 


SYLVIA  LOSES  349 

there — just  in  time  for  the  yachting  regatta, 
wrote  the  host.  They  came;  and  about  two 
weeks  later  a  great  ocean-going  yacht  steamed 
majestically  into  the  harbor,  and  the  dismayed 
Sylvia  read  in  the  next  morning's  paper  that 
Mr.  Douglas  van  Tuiver,  who  had  been  cruising 
in  the  Gulf  with  a  party  of  friends,  had  come  to 
attend  the  races! 

"I  won't  see  him!"  she  declared;  and  Uncle 
Mandeville,  who  was  in  command  here,  backed 
her  up,  and  offered  to  shoot  the  fellow  if  he  mo 
lested  her.  This,  of  course,  was  in  fun,  but 
Uncle  Mandeville  was  serious  in  his  support  of 
his  niece,  maintaining  that  the  Castlemans  needed 
no  Yankee  princeling  to  buttress  their  fortunes. 

She  fully  meant  not  to  see  him.  But  he  had 
brought  allies  to  make  sure  of  her.  That  after 
noon  an  automobile  drew  up  at  the  door,  and 
Sylvia,  who  was  on  the  gallery,  saw  a  lady 
descending,  waving  a  hand  to  her.  She  stared, 
dumb-founded.  It  was  Mrs.  Winthrop! 

Mrs.  Winthrop — clad  in  spotless  white  from 
hat  to  shoetips,  looking  sunburned  and  pictur 
esque,  and  surprisingly  festive.  No  one  was  in 
sight  but  Sylvia,  and  so  she  had  a  free  field  for 
her  wizardry.  She  came  slowly  up  the  gallery- 
steps,  and  took  the  outstretched  hands  in  hers, 
and  gazed.  How  much  she  read  in  the  pale, 
thin  face — and  what  deeps  of  feeling  welled  up 
in  her! 

"Oh,  let  me  help  you!"  she  murmured.  And 
nothing  more. 


350  SYLVIA 

"Thank  you!"  said  Sylvia  at  last. 

"My  dryad!"  Quick  tears  of  sympathy  started 
in  the  great  lady's  eyes,  and  came  running  down 
her  sunburned  cheeks,  and  had  to  be  brushed 
away  with  a  tiny  Irish  lace  handkerchief. 

"Believe  me,  Sylvia,  I  too  have  known  grief!" 
she  began,  after  a  minute.  Sylvia  was  deeply 
touched;  for  what  grief  could  be  more  fascinating 
than  that  which  lurked  in  the  dream-laden  eyes 
before  her?  She  found  herself  suddenly  recalling 
an  irreverent  phrase  of  "Tubby"  Bates':  "The 
beautiful  unhappy  wife  of  a  railroad-builder!" 

They  sat  down.  "Sylvia,"  said  Mrs.  Win- 
throp,  "you  need  diversion.  Come  out  on  the 
yacht!" 

"No,"  she  replied,  "I  don't  want  to  meet  Mr. 
van  Tuiver  again." 

"I  appreciate  your  motives,"  said  the  other. 
"But  you  may  surely  trust  to  my  discretion, 
Sylvia.  Mr.  van  Tuiver  has  recovered  himself, 
and  there  is  no  longer  any  need  for  you  to  avoid 
him." 

He  was  a  much  changed  man,  went  on  "Queen 
Isabella";  so  chastened  that  his  best  friends 
hardly  knew  him.  He  had  become  a  most  fas 
cinating  figure,  a  sort  of  superior  Werther;  his 
melancholy  became  him.  He  had  been  really 
admirable  in  his  behavior,  and  Sylvia  owed  it  to 
him  to  give  him  a  chance  to  show  her  that  he 
could  control  himself,  to  show  his  friends  that  she 
had  not  dismissed  him  with  contempt.  There 
was  a  charming  party  on  board  the  yacht;  it 


SYLVIA  LOSES  351 

included  van  Tuiver's  aunt,  Mrs.  Harold  Cliveden, 
of  whom  Sylvia  had  surely  heard;  also  her  niece, 
Miss  Vaillant,  and  Lord  Howard  Annersley,  who 
was  engaged  to  her.  Sylvia  had  probably  not 
seen  the  accounts  of  this  affair,  but  it  was  most 
romantic.  The  girl  pleaded  that  her  father  was 
ill  and  needed  her.  But  he  might  come  too,  said 
Mrs.  Winthrop;  the  diversion  would  benefit  him. 
So  at  last  Sylvia  consented  to  go  to  lunch. 


§  16 

VAN  TUIVER  came  to  fetch  them  on  the  follow 
ing  day.  He  looked  his  new  r61e  of  a  leisure- 
class  Werther,  and  acted  up  to  it  quite  touchingly. 
He  was  perfect  in  his  attitude  toward  his  guests, 
carefully  omitting  all  reference  to  personal  mat 
ters,  and  confining  his  conversation  to  the  yacht 
ing-trip  and  the  party  on  board — especially  to 
Lord  Howard.  Sylvia  said  that  she  had  never 
met  a  Lord  before,  and  it  would  seem  like  a  fairy- 
story  to  her.  The  other  was  careful  to  explain 
that  Lord  Howard  was  not  a  fortune-hunter,  but 
a  friend  of  his.  So  Sylvia  furbished  up  her 
weapons — but  put  most  of  them  away  when  she 
got  on  board,  and  found  out  what  a  very  common 
place  young  man  his  lordship  was. 

It  was  necessary  to  extend  a  return  invitation, 
so  Uncle  Mandeville  took  the  party  automobiling 
along  the  coast,  and  spread  a  sumptuous  picnic- 


352  SYLVIA 

luncheon.  Then  the  next  day  Sylvia  let  herself 
be  inveigled  on  a  moonlight  sailing-trip;  and  so 
it  came  about  that  she  was  cornered  in  the  bow 
of  the  boat,  with  van  Tuiver  at  her  side,  declar 
ing  hi  trembling  accents  that  he  had  tried  to 
forget  her,  that  he  could  not  live  without  her, 
that  if  she  did  not  give  him  some  hope  he  would 
take  his  We. 

She  was  intensely  annoyed,  and  answered  him 
in  monosyllables,  and  took  refuge  with  Lord 
Howard,  who  showed  signs  of  forgetting  that  he 
was  already  hi  the  midst  of  a  romance.  She 
vowed  that  she  would  accept  no  more  invitations, 
and  that  van  Tuiver  would  never  deceive  her  in 
that  way  again.  This  last  with  angry  emphasis 
to  Mrs.  Winthrop,  who,  perceiving  that  some 
thing  had  gone  wrong,  took  her  aside  as  the  party 
was  breaking  up. 

"Queen  Isabella's"  lovely  face  showed  intense 
distress.  "Oh,  these  men!"  she  cried.  "Sylvia, 
what  can  we  do  with  them?"  And  when  Sylvia, 
taken  aback  by  this  appeal,  was  silent,  the  other 
continued,  pleadingly,  "You  must  be  loyal  to 
your  sex,  and  help  me!  We  all  have  to  manage 
men!" 

"But  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  asked  the 
girl.  "Marry  him?" 

She  meant  this  for  the  extreme  of  sarcasm; 
and  great  was  her  surprise  when  Mrs.  Winthrop 
caught  her  hand  and  exclaimed,  "My  dear, 
I  want  you  to  do  just  that!" 

"But  then — what  becomes  of  my  fineness  of 


SYLVIA  LOSES  353 

spirit?"  cried  Sylvia,  with  still  more  withering 
sarcasm. 

Said  "Queen  Isabella,"  "The  man  loves  you." 

"I  know — but  I  don't  love  him." 

"He  loves  you  deeply,  Sylvia.  I  think  you  will 
really  have  to  marry  him." 

"In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  don't  love  him  in 
the  least?" 

The  other  smiled  her  gentlest  smile.  "I  want 
you  to  let  me  come  and  talk  to  you  about  these 
matters." 

"But,  Mrs.  Winthrop,  I  don't  want  to  be  talked 
to  about  marrying  Mr.  van  Tuiver!" 

"I  want  to  explain  things  to  you,  Sylvia. 
You  must  grant  me  that  favor — please!"  In  the 
hurry  of  departure,  Sylvia  gave  no  reply,  and 
the  other  took  silence  for  consent. 

By  what  device  van  Tuiver  could  have  recon 
ciled  Mrs.  Winthrop,  Sylvia  could  not  imagine; 
but  when  the  great  lady  called,  the  next  after 
noon,  she  was  as  ardent  on  the  one  side  as  she 
had  formerly  been  on  the  other.  She  painted 
glowing  pictures  of  the  splendors  which  awaited 
the  future  Mrs.  Douglas  van  Tuiver.  The 
courts  of  Europe  would  be  open  to  her,  her  life 
would  be  one  triumphal  pageant.  Also,  taking 
a  leaf  out  of  "Tubby"  Bates'  note-book,  "Queen 
Isabella"  discoursed  upon  the  good  that  Sylvia 
would  be  able  to  do  with  her  husband's  wealth. 

This  interview  with  Mrs.  Winthrop  was  im 
portant  for  another  reason;  it  was  the  means  of 
setting  at  rest  what  doubts  were  lurking  hi 

23 


354  SYLVIA 

Sylvia's  mind  as  to  her  treatment  of  Frank 
Shirley.  The  other  evidently  had  the  matter 
in  mind,  for  Sylvia  needed  only  to  allude  to  it, 
whereupon  Mrs.  Winthrop  proceeded,  with  the 
utmost  tact  and  understanding,  to  give  her  exactly 
the  information  she  was  craving.  The  dread 
ful  story  was  surely  true — everybody  at  Harvard 
knew  it.  All  that  one  heard  in  defense  was 
that  it  was  a  shame  the  story  had  been  spread 
abroad;  for  there  were  men,  said  Mrs.  Winthrop, 
who  did  these  shameful  things  in  secret,  and 
had  no  remorse  save  when  they  were  found 
out.  Without  saying  it  in  plain  words,  she 
caused  Sylvia  to  have  the  impression  that  such 
evils  were  to  be  found  among  men  of  low  origin 
and  ignominious  destinies:  a  suggestion  which 
started  in  Sylvia  a  brand-new  train  of  thought. 
Could  it  be  that  this  was  the  basis  of  social  dis 
crimination — the  secret  reason  why  her  parents 
were  so  careful  what  men  she  met?  It  threw 
quite  a  new  light  upon  the  question  of  college 
snobbery,  if  one  pictured  the  club-men  as  selected 
and  set  apart  because  of  their  chaste  lives.  It 
made  quite  a  difference  in  one's  attitude  towards 
the  "exclusiveness"  of  van  Tuiver — if  one  might 
think  of  him,  as  Mrs.  Winthrop  apparently  did 
think  of  him,  as  having  been  guarded  from  con 
tamination,  from  the  kind  of  commonness  to 
which  Frank  Shirley  had  permitted  himself  to 
stoop. 


SYLVIA  LOSES  355 

§17 

VAN  TUIVER  of  course  wrote  letters  of  apology; 
but  Sylvia  would  not  answer  them  nor  see  him. 
As  the  yacht  still  Lingered  in  the  harbor,  she 
became  restless,  and  was  glad  when  the  Major 
decided  to  return  home  to  the  rose-gardens  and 
Alexander  Stephens.  Soon  afterwards  she  learned 
that  the  yachting-party  had  returned  to  New 
York;  but  in  a  couple  of  weeks  "King  Douglas" 
was  at  Aunt  Nannie's  again,  annoying  her  with 
his  letters  and  his  importunities. 

By  this  tune  everybody  in  Castleman  County 
knew  the  situation;  it  had  become  a  sort  of 
State  romance — or  perhaps  it  would  be  better 
to  say  a  State  scandal.  Sylvia  became  aware  of 
a  new  force,  vaguer,  but  more  compelling  even 
than  that  of  the  family — the  power  of  public 
opinion.  It  was  all  very  well  for  a  girl  to  have 
whims  and  to  indulge  them;  to  be  coquettish 
and  wayward — naturally.  But  to  keep  it  up 
for  so  long  a  time,  to  carry  the  joke  so  far — 
well,  it  was  unusual,  and  hi  somewhat  question 
able  taste.  It  was  a  fact  that  every  person  in 
Castleman  County  shone  by  the  reflected  glory 
of  Sylvia's  great  opportunity;  and  everybody  felt 
himself — or  more  especially  herself — cheated  of 
this  glory  by  the  girl's  eccentricity.  You  may 
take  this  for  a  joke,  but  let  me  tell  you  that 
public  opinion  is  a  terrible  agent,  which  has 
driven  mighty  princes  to  madness,  and  captains 
of  predatory  finance  to  suicide. 


356  SYLVIA 

All  this  time  Sylvia  was  thinking — thinking. 
Wherever  she  went,  whatever  she  did,  she  was 
debating  one  problem  in  her  soul.  As  I  don't 
want  anyone  to  misunderstand  her  or  despise 
her,  I  must  try  to  tell,  briefly  and  simply,  what 
were  her  thoughts. 

She  had  come  to  hate  life.  Everything  that 
had  ever  been  sweet  to  her  seemed  to  have  turned 
to  ashes  in  her  mouth.  The  social  game,  for  which 
she  had  been  trained  with  so  much  care  and  at 
so  great  expense,  upon  which  she  had  entered 
with  such  zest  three  years  before — the  game  had 
become  a  sordid  mockery  to  her.  It  was  a  chase 
after  men,  an  elaboration  of  devices  to  gain  and 
hold  their  attention.  To  be  decked  out  and 
sent  forth  to  perform  tricks — no,  it  was  an  utterly 
intolerable  thing. 

Her  whole  being  was  one  cry  to  stay  at  home 
with  the  people  she  loved.  Here  were  her  true 
friends,  who  would  always  stand  by  her,  who 
would  be  a  bulwark  against  the  ugliness  of  life. 
A  wonderful  thing  it  was,  after  all,  the  family; 
a  kind  of  army  of  mutual  defense  against  a 
hostile,  predatory  world.  "Life  is  a  case  of  dog 
eat  dog,"  had  been  the  words  of  Uncle  Mande- 
ville.  "You  have  to  eat  or  be  eaten."  And 
Uncle  Mandeville  had  seen  so  much  of  life! 

So  the  one  high  duty  that  Sylvia  could  see 
was  to  stand  by  and  maintain  the  family.  And 
there  were  increasing  signs  that  this  family  was 
in  peril.  More  and  more  plainly  was  worry  to 
be  read  hi  the  face  of  the  Major;  there  were 


SYLVIA  LOSES  357 

even  signs  that  his  worry  had  infected  others. 
Curious,  incredible  as  it  might  seem,  "Miss  Mar 
garet"  was  trying  to  economize!  She  wandered 
over  her  exquisite  velvet  carpets  in  a  faded  last 
year's  gown,  and  a  pair  of  rusty  last  year's  slip 
pers;  nor  could  she  be  persuaded  to  purchase 
new — until  the  Major  himself  sent  off  an  order 
to  her  costumer  in  New  Orleans! 

Also  Aunt  Varina  had  taken  to  fretting  over 
the  housekeeping  extravagances.  So  many  idle 
negroes  eating  their  heads  off  in  the  kitchen! 
Such  grocery  and  laundry  bills,  beyond  all  reason 
and  sense!  The  echoes  of  her  protest  reached 
even  to  the  tradesmen  in  the  town,  who  heard 
with  dismay  that  at  Castleman  Hall  they  were 
counting  the  supplies,  and  going  over  the  bills, 
and  refusing  to  pay  for  goods  which  had  not 
been  sent,  or  had  been  stolen  by  the  negroes 
employed  to  deliver  them! 

"Aunt  Mandy,"  the  black  cook,  had  once 
been  heard  to  declare  that  Castleman  Hall  was 
not  a  home,  but  "a  free  hotel."  A  hotel  with 
great  airy  rooms,  huge  four-poster  beds,  and  quaint 
old  "dressers"  and  "armours"  of  hand-carved 
mahogany !  No  wonder  the  guests  came  trooping ! 
"We  ought  to  move  into  one  of  the  smaller 
houses  on  the  plantation!"  declared  Aunt  Varina; 
and  what  a  horror  to  have  such  an  idea  mentioned 
in  the  family.  Fear  assailed  "Miss  Margaret "- 
what  if  the  neighbors  were  to  hear  of  it?  Every 
body  knew  that  there  had  been  droughts  and 
floods,  and  somebody  might  suspect  that  these 


358  SYLVIA 

had  touched  the  Castlemans!  Mrs.  Castleman 
decided  forthwith  that  it  would  be  necessary  to 
give  a  big  reception;  and  the  moment  this  was 
announced  came  a  cry  from  Celeste — why,  if  her 
mother  could  give  a  reception,  could  she  not 
have  the  little  "electric"  for  which  she  had  begged 
all  summer? 

Celeste  was  going  back  to  Miss  Abercrombie's 
in  a  week  or  two.  Going  back  to  Fifth  Avenue 
and  its  shops — to  open  accounts  at  any  of  them 
she  chose,  and  sign  her  father's  name  to  checks, 
just  as  Sylvia  had  done.  It  would  have  been  a 
painful  matter  to  curtail  this  privilege,  for  Sylvia 
was  the  favorite  daughter,  and  Celeste  knew  it, 
and  was  bitterly  resentful  of  every  sign  of 
favoritism.  And  yet  the  privilege  was  more 
dangerous  in  the  case  of  Celeste,  who  was  care 
less  to  the  point  of  wickedness.  You  might  see 
her  step  out  of  an  expensive  ball-gown  at  night, 
and  leave  it  a  crumpled  ring  upon  the  floor  until 
the  maid  hung  it  up  in  the  morning;  you  might 
see  her  kick  off  her  tight,  high-heeled  slippers, 
and  walk  about  the  room  for  hours  in  her  stock 
inged  feet — thus  wearing  out  a  pair  of  new  silk 
hose  that  had  cost  five  dollars,  and  kicking  them 
to  one  side  to  be  carried  off  by  the  negroes. 
Celeste  would  permit  nothing  but  silk  upon  her 
exquisite  person,  and  was  given  to  lounging  about 
in  oriental  luxuriance,  while  Peggy  and  Maria 
gazed  at  her  awe-stricken,  as  at  some  princess 
hi  a  fairy-story  book.  Sylvia  saw  with  bewilder 
ment  that  everywhere  about  her  it  was  the  evil 
example  which  seemed  to  be  prevailing. 


SYLVIA  LOSES  359 

§  18 

SYLVIA  could  not  plan  to  stay  at  home  and 
share  in  this  plundering  of  her  father.  She  must 
marry;  yet  when  it  came  to  the  question  of  marry 
ing,  the  one  positive  fact  in  her  consciousness 
was  that  she  could  never  love  any  man.  No 
matter  how  long  she  might  wait,  no  matter  how 
much  energy  she  might  expend  in  hesitating  and 
agonizing,  sooner  or  later  she  would  give  herself 
in  marriage  to  some  man  whom  she  did  not  love. 
And  after  all,  there  was  very  little  choice  among 
them,  so  far  as  she  could  see.  Some  were  more 
entertaining  than  others;  but  it  was  true  of 
everyone  that  if  he  touched  her  hand  in  token 
of  desire,  she  shrunk  from  him  with  repugnance. 

The  tune  came  when  to  her  cool  reason  this 
shrinking  wore  the  aspect  of  a  weakness.  When 
so  much  happiness  for  all  those  she  loved  de 
pended  upon  the  conquering  of  it,  what  folly 
not  to  conquer  it!  Here  was  the  obverse  of  that 
distrust  of  "blind  passion"  which  they  had 
taught  her.  Whether  it  was  an  emotion  towards 
or  away  from  a  man,  was  it  a  thing  which  should 
dominate  a  woman's  life?  Was  it  not  rather  a 
thing  for  her  to  beat  into  whatever  shape  her 
good  sense  directed? 

Seated  one  day  hi  her  mother's  room,  Sylvia 
asked,  quite  casually,  "Mamma,  how  often  do 
women  marry  the  men  they  love?" 

"Why,  what  makes  you  ask  that?"  inquired 
the  other, 


360  SYLVIA 

"I  don't  know,  Mamma.    I  was  just  thinking." 

"Miss  Margaret"  considered.  "Not  often,  my 
child;  certainly  not,  if  you  mean  their  first  love." 
Then,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  "I  think  perhaps 
it's  well  they  don't.  Most  all  those  I  know  who 
married  their  first  love  are  unhappy  now." 

"Why  is  that,  Mamma?" 

"They  don't  seem  able  to  judge  wisely  when 
they're  young  and  blinded  by  passion."  "Miss 
Margaret"  drifted  into  reminiscences — beginning 
with  the  case  of  Aunt  Varina,  who  was  in  the 
next  room. 

"It  seems  such  a  terrible  thing,"  said  Sylvia. 
"Love  is — well,  it  makes  you  want  to  trust  it." 

"Something  generally  happens,"  replied  the 
other.  "A  woman  has  to  wait,  and  in  the  end 
she  marries  for  quite  other  reasons." 

"And  yet  they  manage  to  make  out!"  said  the 
girl,  half  to  herself. 

"Children  come,  dear.  Children  take  their 
time,  and  they  forget.  I  remember  so  well  your 
Uncle  Barry's  wife — she  visited  us  in  her  court 
ship  days,  and  she  used  to  wake  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  and  whisper  to  me  in  a  trembling 
voice,  'Margaret,  tell  me — shall  I  marry  him?' 
I  think  she  went  to  the  altar  without  really  having 
her  mind  made  up;  and  yet,  you  see,  she's  one 
of  the  happiest  women  I  know — they  are  per 
fectly  devoted  to  each  other." 

Sylvia  went  away  to  ponder  these  things.  The 
next  day  Aunt  Varina  happened  to  talk  about 
her  life-tragedy,  and  told  Sylvia  of  the  death  of 


SYLVIA  LOSES  361 

her  young  love;  and  later  on  came  Uncle  Barry's 
wife,  traveling  a  hundred  miles  for  the  sake  of 
a  casual  conversation  upon  the  state  of  happiness 
vouchsafed  to  those  who  chose  their  husbands  hi 
accordance  with  reason.  All  of  which  was  man 
aged  with  such  delicacy  and  tact  that  no  one  but 
an  utterly  depraved  person  like  Sylvia  would 
ever  have  suspected  that  it  was  planned. 

There  was  one  person  from  whom  the  girl 
hoped  for  an  unworldly  opinion;  that  was  the 
Bishop.  She  went  to  see  him  one  day,  and 
casually  brought  up  the  subject  of  van  Tuiver — 
a  thing  which  was  easy  enough  to  do,  since  the 
man  was  a  guest  hi  the  house. 

"  Sylvia,"  said  her  uncle,  at  once,  "why  don't 
you  marry  him?" 

The  girl  was  astounded.  "Why,  Uncle  Basil!" 
she  exclaimed.  "Would  you  advise  me  to?" 

^  Nothing  would  make  me  happier  than  the 
news  that  you  had  so  decided." 

Sylvia  was  at  a  loss  for  words.  She  had 
thought  that  here  was  one  person  who  would 
surely  not  be  influenced  by  Royalty.  "Tell  me 
why,"  she  said. 

"Because,  my  child,"  the  Bishop  answered, 
"he's  a  Christian  gentleman." 

"Oh!    So  it's  that!" 

"Yes,  Sylvia.  You  don't  know  how  often  I 
have  prayed  that  you  might  have  a  religious  man 
for  a  husband." 

Sylvia  said  no  more.  Her  thoughts  flew  back 
to  Boston,  to  an  incident  which  had  caused  her 


362  SYLVIA 

amusement  at  the  time.  She  had  told  "Tubby" 
Bates  that  she  would  go  motoring  with  van 
Tuiver  on  a.  Sunday  morning;  and  the  answer 
was  that  on  Sunday  mornings  van  Tuiver  passed 
the  collection-plate  in  a  Very  High  Church. 
Bates  went  on  to  explain — in  his  irreverent 
fashion — that  van  Tuiver's  great-uncle  had  been 
of  the  opinion  that  the  only  hope  for  a  young 
man  with  so  much  money  was  to  turn  him  over 
to  the  Lord;  so  for  his  grand-nephew's  head-tutor 
he  had  engaged  a  clergyman  recommended  by 
an  English  bishop.  And  now  here  was  another 
bishop  recommending  van  Tuiver  as  an  instru 
ment  for  the  converting  of  his  wayward  niece! 

Sylvia  went  away,  and  spent  more  time  in 
doubting  and  fearing.  But  there  was  a  limit 
to  the  time  she  could  take,  because  the  man  was 
practically  in  her  home,  moving  heaven  and 
earth  to  get  a  chance  to  see  her,  to  urge  his  suit, 
to  implore  her  for  mercy,  if  for  nothing  more. 
And  truly  he  was  a  pitiable  object;  if  a  woman 
wanted  a  husband  whom  she  could  twist  round 
her  finger,  of  whom  she  could  be  absolute  mistress 
all  her  days,  here  surely  was  the  husband  at 
hand!  The  voice  of  old  Lady  Dee  called  out  to 
her  from  the  land  of  ghosts  that  her  victory  and 
her  crown  were  here. 

The  end  came  suddenly,  being  due  to  a  far- 
off  cause.  There  was  a  panic  hi  "Wall  Street"; 
an  event  of  which  Sylvia  heard  vaguely,  but 
without  paying  heed,  not  dreaming  that  so  remote 
an  event  could  concern  her.  One  can  consult 


SYLVIA  LOSES  363 

the  financial  year-books,  and  learn  how  many 
business-men  went  into  bankruptcy  as  a  result 
of  that  panic,  what  properties  had  to  be  sold  as 
a  result  of  it;  but  it  has  apparently  not  occurred 
to  any  compiler  of  statistics  to  record  the  number 
of  daughters — daughters  of  poor  men  and 
daughters  of  rich  men — who  had  to  be  sold  as 
a  result  of  it. 

The  Major  came  home  one  afternoon  and  shut 
himself  in  his  study,  and  did  not  come  to  dinner. 
Sylvia  knew,  by  that  subtle  sixth  sense  whereby 
things  are  known  in  families,  that  something 
serious  had  happened.  But  she  was  not  allowed 
to  see  her  father  that  day  or  night;  and  when 
she  finally  did  see  him,  she  was  dumb  with  horror. 
He  looked  so  yellow  and  ill — his  hands  trembled 
as  if  palsied,  and  she  knew  by  the  cigar-stumps 
scattered  about  the  office,  and  the  decanter  of 
brandy  on  top  of  the  desk,  that  he  had  been  up 
the  entire  night  at  his  books. 

He  would  not  tell  her  what  was  the  matter; 
he  insisted,  as  usual,  that  it  was  "nothing." 
But  evidently  he  had  told  his  wife,  for  the  poor 
lady's  eyes  were  red  with  weeping.  Later  on  in 
the  day  Sylvia,  chancing  to  answer  the  telephone, 
received  a  message  from  Uncle  Mandeville  in 
New  Orleans,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  "short," 
and  powerless  to  help.  Then  she  took  her  mother 
aside  and  dragged  the  story  from  her.  The  local 
bank  was  in  trouble,  and  had  called  some  of  the 
Major's  loans.  The  blow  had  almost  killed  him, 
and  they  were  in  terror  as  to  what  he  might  do 
to  himself. 


364  SYLVIA 

Mrs.  Castieman  saw  her  daughter  go  white, 
and  added,  "Oh,  if  only  you  were  not  under  the 
spell  of  that  dreadful  man!" 

"But  what  in  the  world  has  that  to  do  with 
it?"  demanded  the  girl. 

"I  curse  the  day  that  you  met  him!"  wailed 
the  other;  and  then,  as  Sylvia  repeated  her 
question — "What  else  is  it  that  keeps  you  from 
loving  a  good  man,  and  being  a  help  to  your 
father  in  this  dreadful  crisis?" 

"Mamma!"  exclaimed  Sylvia.  She  had  never 
expected  to  hear  anything  like  this  from  the 
gentle  "Miss  Margaret."  "Mamma,  I  couldn't 
stop  the  panic!" 

"You  could  stop  it  so  far  as  your  father  is 
concerned,"  was  the  answer. 

Sylvia  said  no  more  at  this  time.  But  later 
on,  when  Aunt  Nannie  came  over,  she  heard  the 
remark  that  there  were  a  few  fortunate  persons 
who  were  not  affected  by  panics;  it  had  been 
the  maxim  of  van  Tuiver's  ancestors  to  invest 
in  nothing  but  New  York  City  real  estate,  and 
to  live  upon  their  incomes.  It  was  possible  to 
do  this,  even  in  New  York,  declared  Mrs.  Chilton, 
if  one's  income  was  several  millions  a  year. 

"Aunt  Nannie,"  said  the  girl,  gravely,  "if  I 
promised  to  marry  Mr.  van  Tuiver,  could  I  ask 
him  to  lend  Papa  money?" 

Whereat  the  other  laughed.  "My  dear  niece, 
I  assure  you  that  to  be  the  father  of  the  future 
Mrs.  Douglas  van  Tuiver  would  be  an  asset  in 
the  money  market — an  asset  quite  as  good  as  a 
plantation." 


SYLVIA  LOSES  365 

§  19 

SYLVIA  made  up  her  mind  that  day;  and  as 
usual,  she  was  both  clear-sighted  and  honest 
about  it.  She  would  not  deceive  herself,  and  she 
would  not  deceive  van  Tuiver.  She  sent  for  the 
young  millionaire,  and  taking  him  into  another 
room  than  the  library,  shut  the  door.  "Mr. 
van  Tuiver,"  she  began,  in  a  voice  she  tried  hard 
to  keep  firm,  "you  have  been  begging  me  to 
marry  you.  You  must  know  that  I  have  been 
trying  to  make  up  my  mind." 

"Yes,  Miss  Sylvia?"  he  said,  eagerly. 

"I  loved  Frank  Shirley,"  she  continued.  "Now 
I  can  never  love  again.  But  I  know  I  shall  have 
to  marry.  My  people  would  be  unhappy  if  I 
didn't — so  unhappy  that  I  know  I  couldn't  bear 
it.  You  see,  the  person  I  really  love  is  my  father." 

She  hesitated  again.  "Yes,  Miss  Sylvia,"  he 
repeated.  She  saw  that  his  hands  were  trembling, 
and  that  he  was  gazing  at  her  with  feverish 
excitement. 

"I  would  do  anything  to  make  my  father 
happy,"  she  said.  "And  now — he's  in  trouble — 
money-trouble.  Of  course  I  know  that  if  I  mar 
ried  you,  I  could  help  him.  I've  tried  to  bring 
myself  to  do  it.  To-day  I  said,  'I  will!'  But 
then,  there  is  your  side  to  be  thought  of." 

"My  side,  Miss  Sylvia?" 

"  I  have  to  be  honest  with  you.  I  can't  pretend 
to  be  what  I  am  not,  or  to  feel  what  I  don't  feel. 
If  I  were  to  marry  you,  I  should  try  to  do  my  duty 


366  SYLVIA 

as  a  wife;  I  should  do  everything  in  my  power, 
honestly  and  sincerely.  But  I  don't  love  you, 
and  I  don't  see  how  I  ever  could  love  you." 

"But — Miss  Sylvia — "  he  exclaimed,  hardly 
able  to  speak  for  his  agitation.  "You  mean  that 
you  would  marry  me?" 

"I  didn't  know  if  you  would  want  to  marry 
me — when  I  had  told  you  that." 

He  was  leaning  forward,  clenching  and  un 
clenching  his  hands  nervously.  "I  wouldn't 
mind — really!"  he  said. 

"Even  if  you  knew — "  she  began. 

"Miss  Sylvia,"  he  cried,  "I  love  you!  Don't 
you  understand  how  I  love  you?" 

"Yes,  but— if  I  couldn't— if  I  didn't  love  you?" 

"I  would  take  what  you  could  give  me!  I 
love  you  so  much,  nothing  would  matter.  I  believe 
that  you  would  come  to  love  me!  If  you  would 
only  give  me  a  chance,  Miss  Sylvia " 

"But  suppose!"  she  protested.  "Suppose  you 
found  that  I  never  did!  Suppose " 

But  he  was  in  no  mood  for  troublesome  sup 
positions.  Any  way  would  do,  he  said.  He 
began  stammering  out  his  happiness,  he  fell  upon 
his  knees  before  her  and  caught  her  hand,  and 
sought  to  kiss  it.  At  first  she  made  a  move  to 
withdraw  it;  but  then,  with  an  inward  effort, 
she  let  him  have  it,  and  sat  staring  before  her, 
a  mantle  of  scarlet  stealing  over  her  throat  and 
cheeks  and  forehead. 

His  hands  were  hot  and  moist,  and  quite  hor 
rible  to  her.  Once  she  looked  at  him,  and  an 


SYLVIA  LOSES  367 

image  of  him  was  stamped  upon  her  mind  in 
delibly.  It  was  an  image  quite  different  from 
his  ordinary  rigid  and  sober  mask;  it  was  the 
face  of  the  man  who  had  always  got  everything 
he  wanted.  Sylvia  did  not  formulate  to  herself 
just  what  it  was  that  frightened  her  so — except 
for  one  phrase.  She  said  it  seemed  to  her  that  he 
licked  his  lips! 

He  could  hardly  believe  that  the  long  siege 
was  ended,  that  the  guerdon  of  victory  was  his. 
She  had  to  tell  him  several  times  that  she  would 
marry  him — that  she  was  serious  about  it — that 
would  give  him  her  word  and  would  not  take  it 
back.  And  then  she  had  to  prove  it  to  him.  He 
was  not  content  to  clasp  her  hand,  but  sought  to 
embrace  her;  and  when  she  found  that  she  could 
not  stand  it,  she  had  to  plead  that  it  was  not  the 
Southern  custom.  "You  must  give  me  a  little 
tune  to  get  used  to  the  idea.  I  only  made  up  my 
mind  to-day." 

"But  you  will  change  your  mind!"  he  exclaimed. 

"No,  no,  I  won't  do  that.  That  would  be 
wicked  of  me.  I've  decided  what  is  right,  and 
I  mean  to  do  it.  But  you  must  be  patient  with 
me  at  the  beginning." 

"When  will  you  marry  me?"  he  asked — evi 
dently  none  too  confident  in  her  resolution, 

"I  don't  know.  It  ought  to  be  soon.  I  must 
talk  with  my  parents  about  it." 

"And  where  will  it  be?" 

"That's  something  I  meant  to  speak  of.  It 
can't  be  here."  She  hesitated.  "I  must  tell  you 


368  SYLVIA 

the  truth.  There  would  be  too  much  to  remind 
me.  I  couldn't  endure  it.  This  may  seem  sen 
timental  to  you,  but  I'm  quite  determined.  But 
I'll  have  a  hard  time  persuading  my  people — for 
you  see,  they're  proud,  and  they'll  say  the  world 
would  expect  you  to  marry  me  here.  You  must 
stand  by  me  in  this." 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "I  will  urge  them  to 
have  the  wedding  in  New  York." 

There  was  a  pause,  then  Sylvia  added:  "An 
other  thing,  you  must  not  breathe  a  word  to 
anyone  of  what  I've  told  you — about  the  state 
of  my  feelings — my  reasons  for  deciding " 

He  smiled.     "I'd  hardly  boast  about  that!" 

"No,  but  I  mean  you  mustn't  tell  your  dearest 
friend — not  Aunt  Nannie,  not  Mrs.  Winthrop. 
You  see,  I  have  to  make  my  people  believe  that 
I'm  quite  sure  of  my  own  mind.  If  my  father 
had  any  idea  that  I  was  thinking  of  him,  then 
he'd  surely  forbid  it.  If  he  ever  found  out  after 
wards,  he'd  be  wretched — and  I'd  have  failed  in 
what  I  tried  to  do." 

"I  understand,"  said  van  Tuiver,  humbly. 

"It's  not  going  to  be  easy  for  me,"  she  added. 
"I  shall  have  to  make  everybody  think  I'm  happy. 
You  must  sympathize  with  me  and  help  me — and 
not  mind  if  I  seem  unreasonable  and  full  of 
whims." 

He  said  again  that  he  understood,  and  would 
do  his  best.  He  took  her  hand,  very  gently,  and 
held  it  in  his;  he  started  to  kiss  it,  but  when  he 
saw  that  she  had  no  pleasure  in  the  ceremony 


SYLVIA  LOSES  369 

he  released  it,  parting  from  her  with  a  formal 
little  speech  of  thanks.  And  such  was  the  manner 
of  Sylvia's  second  betrothal. 


§  20 

THE  engagement  was  announced  at  once,  the 
wedding  to  take  place  six  weeks  later  in  New 
York.  Just  as  Sylvia  had  anticipated,  the 
family  made  a  great  to-do  over  the  place  of  the 
ceremony;  but  finding  that  both  she  and  van 
Tuiver  were  immovable,  they  cast  about  for 
some  pretext  to  make  a  New  York  wedding  seem 
plausible  to  a  suspicious  world.  They  bethought 
themselves  of  an  almost  forgotten  relative  of 
the  family,  a  step-sister  of  Lady  Dee's,  who  had 
lived  in  haughty  poverty  for  half  a  century  in 
the  metropolis,  and  was  now  discovered  in  a 
boarding-house  in  Harlem,  and  transported  to 
a  suite  of  apartments  in  the  Palace  Hotel,  to 
become  responsible  for  Sylvia's  desertion  of 
Castleman  County.  She  had  nothing  to  do  but 
be  the  hostess  of  her  "dear  niece" — since  Mrs. 
Harold  Cliveden  had  kindly  offered  to  see  to  the 
practical  details  of  the  ceremonial. 

The  thrilling  news  of  the  betrothal  spread, 
quite  literally  with  the  speed  of  lightning;  the 
next  day  all  America  read  of  the  romance.  Since 
the  story  of  van  Tuiver's  infatuation,  his  treason 
to  the  "Gold  Coast"  and  his  forsaking  of  college, 

24 


370  SYLVIA 

has  been  the  gossip  of  New  York  and  Boston 
clubs  for  months,  there  was  a  delightful  story  for 
the  " yellows,"  of  which  they  did  not  fail  to  make 
use.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  of  that  kind 
in  the  Southern  papers,  but  they  had  their  own 
way  of  responding  to  the  general  excitement,  of 
gratifying  the  general  curiosity. 

Sylvia  was  really  startled  by  the  furore  she 
had  raised;  she  was  as  if  caught  up  and  whirled 
away  by  a  hurricane.  Such  floods  of  congratu 
lations  as  poured  in!  So  many  letters,  from 
people  whose  names  she  could  barely  remember! 
Was  there  a  single  person  in  the  county  who 
had  a  right  to  call,  who  did  not  call  to  wish  her 
joy?  Even  Celeste  wrote  from  Miss  Abercrom- 
bie's — a  letter  which  brought  the  tears  ,to  her 
sister's  eyes. 

Through  all  these  events  Sylvia  played  her 
r61e;  she  played  it  day  and  night — not  even  in 
the  presence  of  her  negro  maid  did  she  lay  it 
aside!  The  r61e  of  the  blushing  bride-to-be, 
the  ten-times-over  happy  heroine  of  a  romance  in 
high-life!  She  must  be  smiling,  radiant  with 
animation  decorously  repressed;  she  must  go 
about  with  the  lucky  bridegroom-to-be,  and 
receive  the  congratulations  of  those  she  knew, 
and  be  unaware — yet  not  ungraciously  unaware 
— of  the  interest  and  the  stares  of  those  she  did 
not  know.  More  difficult  yet,  she  had  to  look 
the  Major  in  the  eyes,  and  say  to  him  that  she 
had  come  to  realize  that  she  was  fond  of  "Mr. 
van  Tuiver,"  and  that  she  honestly  believed  she 


SYLVIA  LOSES  371 

would  be  happy  with  him.  Since  her  mother 
and  Aunt  Varina  were  dear  sentimental  Southern 
ladies,  incapable  of  taking  a  cold-blooded  look 
at  a  fact,  she  had  to  pretend  even  to  them  that 
she  was  cradled  in  bliss. 

At  first  van  Tuiver  was  with  her  all  the  tune, 
pouring  out  the  torrents  of  his  happiness  and 
gratitude.  But  Aunt  Nannie  soon  came  to  the 
rescue  here;  Sylvia  must  not  have  the  incon 
veniences  of  matrimony  until  the  knot  had 
actually  been  tied.  Van  Tuiver  was  ordered  off 
to  New  York,  until  Sylvia  should  come  for  the 
buying  of  her  wedding-trousseau. 

The  dear  old  Major  had  suspected  nothing 
when  his  friend,  the  president  of  the  bank,  had 
suddenly  discovered  that  he  could  "carry"  the 
troublesome  notes.  So  now  he  was  completely 
free  from  care,  and  his  daughter  had  a  week  of 
bliss  in  his  company.  She  read  history  to  him, 
and  drove  with  him,  and  tended  his  flowers  in 
the  conservatory,  and  was  hardly  apart  from 
him  an  hour  in  the  day. 

Sylvia  had  set  out  some  months  ago  at  the 
task  of  democratizing  van  Tuiver;  even  in 
becoming  engaged  she  had  kept  some  lingering 
hope  of  accomplishing  this.  But  alas,  how 
quickly  the  idea  vanished  before  the  reality  of 
her  situation!  She  remembered  with  a  smile 
how  glibly  she  had  advised  the  young  millionaire 
to  step  away  from  his  shadow;  and  how  he  had 
labored  to  make  plain  to  her  that  he  could  not 
help  being  a  King.  Now  suddenly  she  found 


372  SYLVIA 

that  she  could  sympathize  with  him — she  who 
was  about  to  be  a  Queen! 

There  were  a  thousand  little  ways  hi  which 
she  felt  the  difference.  Even  the  manner  of  her 
friends  was  changed.  She  could  not  go  anywhere 
that  she  was  not  conscious  of  people  staring  at 
her.  It  was  found  necessary  to  appoint  a  negro 
to  guard  the  grounds,  because  of  the  number 
of  strangers  who  came  in  the  hope  of  getting  a 
glimpse  of  her.  Her  mail  became  suddenly  a 
flood:  letters  from  inventors  who  wished  to  make 
her  another  fortune;  letters  from  distressed 
women  who  implored  her  to  save  them;  letters 
from  convicts  languishing  in  prison  for  crimes 
of  which  they  were  innocent;  letters  from  poets 
with  immortal,  unrecognized  blank-verse  dramas; 
letters  from  lonely  farmers'  wives  who  thrilled 
over  her  romance,  and  poured  out  their  souls 
hi  ill-spelled  blessings;  letters  from  prophets  of 
the  class-war  who  frightened  her  with  warnings 
of  the  wrath  to  come! 

On  the  second  day  after  the  engagement  was 
announced,  Sylvia  went  out,  all  unsuspecting, 
for  a  horseback-ride,  and  had  hardly  mounted 
when  a  man  with  a  black  box  stepped  from  be 
hind  a  tree,  and  proceeded  calmly  to  snap-shot 
the  fair  equestrienne.  Sylvia  cried  out  in  indig 
nation,  and  springing  from  the  horse,  rushed  hi 
to  tell  the  Major  what  had  happened;  where 
upon  the  Major  sallied  out  with  a  cane,  and  there 
was  a  cross-country  gallop  after  the  intruder, 
ending  hi  a  violent  collision  between  the  camera 


SYLVIA  LOSES  373 

and  the  cane.  The  funniest  part  of  the  matter 
was  that  the  photographer  spent  the  better  part 
of  a  day  trying  to  get  a  warrant  for  his  assailant 
— imagining  that  it  was  possible  to  arrest  a  Castle- 
man  in  Castleman  Comity!  By  way  of  revenge 
he  telegraphed  the  story  to  New  York,  where 
it  appeared,  duly  worked  up — with  the  old  photo 
graph  of  the  "reigning  beauty  of  the  New  South," 
in  place  of  the  one  which  had  died  in  the  camera! 


§  21 

SYLVIA  came  up  to  New  York  in  due  course; 
and  by  the  tune  that  she  had  been  there  one 
day,  she  was  able  to  understand  the  fondness 
of  the  great  for  traveling  "incog."  She  was 
"snapped"  when  she  descended  from  the  tram — 
and  this  time  there  was  no  one  to  assault  the 
photographer.  Coming  out  of  her  hotel  with 
van  Tuiver  she  found  a  battery  of  cameras  wait 
ing;  and  being  ungracious  enough  to  put  up  her 
hand  before  her  face,  she  beheld  her  picture  the 
next  morning  with  the  hand  held  up,  and  beside 
it  the  "reigning  beauty"  picture — with  the 
caption,  "What  is  behind  the  hand!" 

Van  Tuiver  was  of  course  known  in  all  the 
places  which  were  patronized  by  the  people  of 
his  sort;  and  Sylvia  had  but  to  be  seen  with  him 
once  in  order  to  be  equally  known.  Thereafter 
when  she  passed  through  a  hotel-lobby,  or  into 


374  SYLVIA 

a  tea-room,  she  would  become  aware  of  a  sudden 
hush,  and  would  know  that  every  eye  was  follow 
ing  her.  Needless  to  say,  she  could  count  upon 
the  attention  of  all  the  " buttons"  who  caught 
sight  of  her;  she  lived  with  a  vague  consciousness 
of  swarms  of  blue-uniformed  gnomes  with  con 
stantly-changing  faces,  who  flitted  about  her, 
all  but  falling  over  one  another  in  their  zeal,  and 
making  her  least  action,  such  as  sitting  in  a  chair 
or  passing  through  a  doorway,  into  a  ceremonial 
observance. 

The  most  curious  thing  of  all  was  to  go  shop 
ping;  she  simply  dared  not  order  anything  sent 
home.  There  would  be  the  clerk,  with  pad  and 
poised  pencil — "Name,  please?"  She  would  say, 
"Miss  Sylvia  Castleman,"  and  the  pencil  would 
begin  to  write  mechanically — and  then  stop, 
struck  with  a  sudden  paralysis.  She  would  see 
the  fingers  trembling,  she  would  be  aware  of  a 
swift,  wonder-stricken  glance.  Sometimes  she 
would  pretend  to  be  unconscious,  and  the  busi 
ness  would  go  on — "Palace  Hotel.  To  be  de 
livered  this  afternoon.  Yes,  certainly,  Miss 
Castleman."  But  sometimes  human  feeling 
would  break  through  all  routine.  A  young  soul, 
hungry  for  life,  for  beauty — and  confronting  sud 
denly  the  greatest  moment  of  its  whole  existence, 
touching  the  hem  of  the  star-sewn  garment  of 
Romance!  A  young  girl — possibly  even  a  man — 
flushing  scarlet,  trembling,  stammering,  "Oh — 
why — !"  Once  or  twice  Sylvia  read  in  the  face 
before  her  something  so  pitiful  that  she  was 


SYLVIA  LOSES  375 

moved  to  put  her  hand  upon  that  of  her  devotee; 
and  if  you  are  learned  in  the  lore  of  ancient 
tunes,  you  know  what  miracles  are  wrought  by 
the  touch  of  Royalty! 

What  attitude  was  she  to  take  to  this  new 
power  of  hers?  It  was  impossible  to  pretend  to 
be  unaware  of  it — she  had  too  keen  a  sense  of 
humor.  But  was  she  to  spend  her  whole  life  in 
shrinking,  and  feeling  shame  for  other  people's 
folly?  Or  should  she  learn  somehow  to  accept 
the  homage  as  her  due?  She  saw  that  the  latter 
was  what  van  Tuiver  expected.  He  had  chosen 
her  among  millions  because  she  was  the  one 
supremely  fitted  to  go  through  life  at  his  side; 
and  if  she  kept  her  promise  and  tried  to  be  a 
faithful  wife  to  him,  she  would  have  to  take 
her  r61e  seriously,  and  learn  to  enjoy  the  per 
formances. 

Meantime,  you  ask,  What  of  her  soul?  She 
was  trying  her  best  to  forget  it — in  excitements 
and  distractions,  in  meeting  new  people,  going 
to  new  places,  buying  thousands  of  dollars  worth 
of  new  costumes.  She  would  stay  late  at  dances 
and  supper-parties,  trying  to  get  weary  enough 
to  sleep;  but  then  she  would  have  nightmares, 
and  would  waken  moaning  and  sobbing.  Always 
her  dream  was  one  thing,  in  a  thousand  forms; 
she  was  somewhere  in  captivity,  and  some  per 
son  or  creature  was  telling  her  that  she  could 
not  escape,  that  it  was  forever,  forever,  forever. 
Her  room  had  been  made  into  a  bower  of  roses, 
but  she  had  to  send  them  away,  because  one 


376  SYLVIA 

horrible  night  when  she  got  up  and  walked  about, 
they  made  her  think  of  the  gardens  at  home, 
and  the  pacing  back  and  forth  in  her  nightgown, 
and  the  thorns  and  gravel  in  her  feet. 

As  a  child  Sylvia  had  read  a  story  of  a  circus- 
clown,  who  had  played  his  part  when  ill  and 
almost  dying,  because  of  his  wife  and  child  at 
home.  Always  thereafter  a  circus-clown  had 
been  to  her  the  symbol  of  the  irony  of  human 
life.  But  now  she  knew  another  figure,  equally 
tragic,  equally  terrible  to  be — the  heroine  of  a 
State  romance.  To  be  photographed  and  written 
about,  to  see  people  staring  at  you,  to  have  to 
smile  and  look  like  one  hearing  celestial  music — 
and  all  the  while  to  have  a  breaking  heart ! 


§  22 

SYLVIA  fought  long  battles  with  herself.  "Oh, 
I  can't  do  it!"  she  would  cry.  "I  can't  do  it!" 
And  then  "You've  promised  to  do  it!"  she  would 
say  to  herself.  And  every  day  she  spent  more 
money,  and  met  more  of  van  Tuiver's  friends, 
and  read  more  articles  about  her  Romance. 

Then  one  morning  came  a  hall-boy  with  a  card. 
She  looked  at  it,  and  had  a  painful  start. 
"Tubby"  Bates! 

He  came  in,  cheerful,  jolly,  reminding  her  of 
so  many  things — such  happy  things!  She  had 
had  a  bad  night,  and  now  she  simply  could  not 


SYLVIA  LOSES  377 

talk;  her  words  choked  her,  and  she  sat  staring 
at  him,  her  eyes  suddenly  filling  with  tears. 

"Why,  Miss  Castleman!"  he  exclaimed — and 
saw  such  a  look  upon  that  lovely  face  that  his 
voice  died  away  to  a  whisper — "You  aren't 
happy!" 

Still  for  a  while  she  could  not  answer.  He 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter;  and  then,  again, 
hi  greater  distress,  "Why  did  you  do  it?"  She 
responded,  hi  a  faint  voice,  "I  did  it  on  my  father's 
account." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  with  sudden 
energy  she  began,  "Mr.  Bates,  there  is  something 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about.  It's  something 
difficult — almost  impossible  for  me  to  speak  of. 
And  yet — I  seem  to  get  more  and  more  desperate 
about  it.  I  can  never  be  happy  in  my  life  until 
I've  talked  to  some  one  about  it." 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Castleman?" 

"It's  about  Frank  Shu-ley." 

"Oh!"  he  said,  hi  surprise. 

"You  know  that  I  was  engaged  to  him,  Mr. 
Bates?" 

"Yes,  I  was  told  that." 

"And  you  can  guess,  perhaps,  how  I  have 
suffered.  I  know  only  what  the  newspapers 
printed — nothing  more.  And  now — you  are  a 
man,  and  you  were  at  Harvard — you  must  know. 
Is  it  true  that  Frank — that  he  did  something  that 
would  make  it  wrong  for  me  ever  to  see  him 
again?" 

The  blood  had  pressed  into  Sylvia's  face,  but 


378  SYLVIA 

still  she  did  not  lower  her  eyes.  She  was  gazing 
intensely  at  her  friend.  She  must  know  the 
truth!  The  whole  truth! 

He  considered,  and  then  said,  gravely,  "No, 
Miss  Castleman,  I  don't  think  he  did  that." 

There  was  a  pause.  "But — it  was  a  place — " 
she  could  go  no  further. 

"I  know,"  he  said.  "But  you  see,  Snirley 
had  a  room-mate — Jack  Colton.  And  he  was 
always  trying  to  help  him — to  keep  him  out  of 
trouble  and  get  him  home  sober " 

"Oh,  then  that  was  it!"  The  words  came  in 
a  tone  that  frightened  Bates  by  their  burden  of 
anguish. 

"Yes,  Miss  Castleman,"  he  said.  "And  as 
to  the  row — Shirley  saw  a  woman  mistreated, 
and  he  interfered,  and  knocked  a  man  down. 
I  know  the  man,  and  he's  the  sort  one  has  to 
knock  down.  The  only  trouble  was  that  he  hit 
his  head  as  he  fell." 

"I  see!"  whispered  Sylvia. 

"But  even  so,  there  wouldn't  have  been  any 
publicity,  except  that  some  of  the  'Auburn  Street 
crowd'  were  there.  They  saw  their  chance  to 
put  the  candidate  of  the  'Yard'  out  of  the  run 
ning;  and  they  did  it.  It  was  a  rotten  shame, 
because  everybody  knew  that  Frank  Shirley  was 
not  that  kind  of  man " 

Bates  stopped  again.  He  could  not  bear  the 
look  he  saw  on  Sylvia's  face.  She  bowed  her 
head  hi  her  arms,  and  silent  sobbing  shook  her. 
Then  she  got  up  and  began  to  pace  back  and  forth 


SYLVIA   LOSES  379 

distractedly.  He  knew  very  well  what  was  going 
on  in  her  thoughts. 

Suddenly  she  turned  upon  him.  "Mr.  Bates," 
she  exclaimed,  "you  must  help  me!  You  must 
stay  here  and  help  me!" 

"Certainly,  Miss  Castleman.    What  can  I  do?" 

"In  the  first  place,  you  must  not  breathe  a 
word  of  this  to  anyone.  You  understand?" 

"Of  course." 

"Have  you  any  idea  where  Frank  Shirley  is?" 

"I  heard  that  he  had  gone  out  to  Wyoming 
with  Jack  Colton." 

"Then  you  must  telegraph  to  Mr.  Colton; 
and  also  you  must  telegraph  to  Frank  Shirley's 
home.  You  must  say  that  Frank  is  to  come  to 
you  hi  New  York  at  once.  He  mustn't  lose  an 
hour,  you  understand;  my  father  will  be  here 
next  week.  Then,  too,  Frank  will  have  heard 
of  my  engagement,  and  you  can't  tell  what, he 
might  do." 

Bates  stared  at  her.  "Do  you  know  what  you 
are  doing,  Miss  Castleman?"  he  asked. 

"I  do,"  she  answered. 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  "I  will  do  what  you 
ask." 

"Go,  do  it  now,"  she  cried,  and  he  went — 
carrying  with  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life  the 
memory  of  her  face  of  agony.  He  sent  the  tele 
grams,  and  in  due  course  received  replies — which 
he  did  not  dare  to  bring  to  Sylvia  himself,  but 
sent  by  messenger.  The  first,  from  Frank's 
home,  was  to  the  effect  that  his  whereabouts 


380  SYLVIA 

were  unknown;  and  the  second,  from  Jack  Col- 
ton,  was  to  the  effect  that  Frank  had  gone  away 
a  couple  of  weeks  before,  saying  that  he  would 
never  return. 


§  23 

SYLVIA  wrestled  this  problem  out  with  her  own 
soul.  The  only  person  who  ever  knew  about  it 
was  Aunt  Varina,  and  she  knew  only  because 
she  happened  to  awaken  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning  and  hear  signs  of  a  fit  of  hysteria 
which  the  girl  was  trying  to  repress.  She  went 
into  Sylvia's  room  and  found  her  huddled  upon 
the  bed;  when  she  asked  what  was  the  matter, 
the  other  sobbed  without  lifting  her  face — "Oh, 
I  can't  marry  him!  I  can't  marry  him!" 

Mrs.  Tuis  stared  at  her  in  consternation. 
"Why,  Sylvia!"  she  gasped. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Varina,"  moaned  Sylvia,  "I'm  so 
unhappy!  It's  so  horrible!" 

"But,  my  child!  You  are  out  of  your  senses! 
What  has  happened?" 

"I've  come  to  realize  the  mistake  I've  made! 
I'd  rather  die  than  do  it!" 

Poor  Aunt  Varina  was  dumb  with  dismay. 
Sylvia  had  played  her  part  so  well  that  no  one 
had  had  a  suspicion.  Now,  between  her  bursts 
of  weeping,  she  stammered  out  what  she  had 
learned.  Frank  was  innocent.  He  had  gone 
away  forever — perhaps  he  had  killed  himself. 


SYLVIA  LOSES  381 

At  any  rate,  his  life  was  ruined,  and  Sylvia  had 
done  it. 

"But,  my  child,"  protested  the  other,  "you 
couldn't  help  it.  How  could  you  know?" 

"I  should  have  found  out!  I  should  have 
trusted  Frank;  I  should  have  known  that  he  could 
not  do  what  they  accused  him  of.  I  have  been 
faithless  to  him — faithless  to  our  love.  And 
now  what  will  become  of  him?" 

Aunt  Varina  sat  gazing  at  her,  tears  of  sym 
pathy  running  down  her  cheeks.  "Sylvia,"  she 
whispered,  "what  will  you  do?" 

"Oh,  I  love  Frank  Shirley!"  moaned  the  girl. 
"I  never  loved  anybody  else — I  never  will  love 
anybody  else!  And  I  know — what  I  didn't  know 
at  first — that  it's  wicked,  wicked  to  marry  with 
out  love!" 

"But  what  will  you  do?"  repeated  the  other, 
who  was  dazed  with  horror. 

For  a  long  tune  there  was  no  sound  but  Sylvia's 
weeping.  "Sylvia  dear,"  began  Aunt  Varina,  at 
last,  "you  must  control  yourself.  You  must 
not  let  these  thoughts  get  possession  of  you. 
You  will  destroy  yourself  if  you  do." 

"I  can't  marry  him!"  sobbed  the  girl. 

"I  can't  let  you  go  on  talking  that  way!" 
exclaimed  the  other,  wildly.  "Do  you  realize 
what  you  are  saying?  Look  at  me,  child,  look 
at  me!" 

Sylvia  looked  at  her,  wondering  a  little — for 
never  had  she  seen  such  vehemence  exhibited  by 
this  gentle  and  submissive  "poor  relation." 


382  SYLVIA 

"Listen!"  Mrs.  Tuis  rushed  on.  "How  can  you 
know  that  what  you  have  heard  is  true?  You 
say  that  Frank  was  innocent — but  your  Cousin 
Harley  investigated,  and  he  declared  he  was 
guilty.  Mrs.  Winthrop  told  you  the  same — she 
said  everybody  knew.  And  yet  you  take  the 
word  of  one  man!  And  you  told  me  at  Harvard 
that  Mr.  Bates  was  distressed  at  the  idea  of  your 
marrying  Mr.  van  Tuiver.  You  told  me  he  warned 
you  against  him!  Isn't  that  so,  Sylvia?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  Varina,  but " 

"He  does  not  like  Mr.  van  Tuiver,  and  he 
comes  here  at  a  time  like  this,  and  puts  such  ideas 
into  your  thoughts.  Don't  you  see  that  was  not 
an  honorable  thing  to  do — when  you  were  on 
the  verge  of  being  married  and  couldn't  get  out 
of  it!  When  you  know  that  your  father  would 
be  utterly  ruined — that  your  whole  family  would 
be  wrecked  by  it!" 

"Surely  it  can't  be  so  bad,  Aunt  Varina!" 

"Think  how  your  father  has  gone  into  debt 
on  your  account!  All  the  clothes  you  have 
bought — the  bills  at  this  hotel — the  expenses  of 
the  wedding!  Thousands  and  thousands  of 
dollars!" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  want  all  that!"  wailed  Sylvia. 

"But  you  did!  You  insisted  on  coming  here 
to  New  York,  where  a  wedding  would  cost  several 
times  as  much  as  at  home!  You  have  come  out 
before  all  the  world  as  Mr.  van  Tuiver's  fiance*e — 
and  think  of  the  scandal  and  the  disgrace,  if  you 
were  to  break  it  off!  And  poor  Mr.  van  Tuiver 


SYLVIA  LOSES  383 

— what  a  figure  he'd  cut!  And  when  he  loves 
you  so!" 

Sylvia's  sobbing  had  ceased  during  this  out 
burst.  When  she  spoke  again,  her  voice  was 
hard.  "He  does  not  love  me,"  she  said. 

"Why,  what  in  the  world  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say.  He  doesn't  love 
me — not  as  Frank  loves  me.  He  isn't  capable 
of  it." 

"But  then — why — for  what  other  reason  should 
he  be  marrying  you?" 

"I'm  beautiful,  and  he  wants  me.  But  it's 
mainly  because  I  offended  his  vanity — yes,  just 
that!  I  turned  him  down,  I  ridiculed  him  and 
insulted  him.  I  was  something  he  couldn't  get; 
and  the  more  he  couldn't  get  me,  the  more  the 
thought  of  me  rankled  in  his  mind." 

"Sylvia!    How  can  you  be  so  cynical!" 

"I'm  not  cynical  at  all.  I  just  won't  gild 
things  over,  as  other  women  do.  I  won't  make 
pretences,  I  won't  cover  myself  and  my  whole 
life  with  a  cloak  of  shams.  I  know  right  now 
that  I'm  being  sold,  just  as  much  as  if  I  were  led 
out  to  an  auction-block  with  chains  about  my 
ankles!  I'm  being  sold  to  a  man — and  I  was 
meant  to  be  sold  to  a  man  from  the  very  begin 
ning  of  my  life!" 

There  was  a  silence;  for  Aunt  Varina  was 
paralyzed  by  these  amazing  words.  She  had 
never  heard  such  an  utterance  in  her  life  before. 
"Sylvia!"  she  cried.  "What  do  you  mean? 
Who  is  driving  you?" 


384  SYLVIA 

"I  don't  know!    But  something  is!" 

"How  can  you  say  it?  Can  you  imagine  that 
your  good,  kind  parents — " 

"Oh,  no!"  interrupted  Sylvia,  passionately. 
"At  least — they  don't  know  it!" 

Mrs.  Tuis  sat  dumfounded.  "Sylvia,"  she 
quavered,  at  last,  "let  me  implore  you  to  get 
yourself  together  before  your  father  arrives  hi 
New  York.  If  he  should  hear  what  you  have 
said  to  me  to-night,  he  would  never  get  over 
it — truly,  it  would  kill  him!" 


§  24 

AN  event  to  which  Sylvia  looked  forward  with 
considerable  interest  was  a  meeting  with  Mrs. 
Beauregard  Dabney,  who  was  coming  to  New 
York  for  a  visit.  Harriet,  as  her  letters  showed, 
was  not  unappreciative  of  the  glory  which  had 
descended  upon  her  friend,  and  would  enjoy 
having  some  of  it  reflected  upon  herself.  Thus 
Sylvia  might  be  shown  what  emotions  she  ought 
to  be  feeling;  possibly  she  might  even  be  made 
to  feel  some  of  them.  At  any  rate,  she  knew 
that  Harriet  would  help  to  keep  her  courage 
screwed  up. 

But  Sylvia's  pleasure  in  the  visit  was  marred 
by  a  peculiar  circumstance,  which  she  had  failed 
to  prepare  for,  in  spite  of  warnings  duly  given. 
"You  must  not  be  surprised  when  you  see  me," 


SYLVIA  LOSES  385 

Harriet  wrote.  "I  have  been  ill,  and  I'm  terribly 
changed."  Her  reason  for  coming  North,  it 
appeared,  was  to  consult  specialists  about  a 
mysterious  ailment  which  had  baffled  the  doctors 
at  home. 

Sylvia  was  quite  horrified  when  she  saw  her 
friend.  Never  could  she  have  imagined  such  a 
change  in  anyone  in  six  months'  time.  Harriet 
lifted  her  veil,  and  there  was  an  old  woman  with 
wrinkled,  yellow  skin.  "Why,  Harriet!"  gasped 
Sylvia,  unable  to  control  herself. 

"I  know,  Sunny,"  said  the  other.  "Isn't  it 
dreadful?" 

"But  for  heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"That's  what  I've  come  to  find  out.  Nobody 
knows." 

"Why,  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!"  Svlvia 
exclaimed.  "What  are  you  doing?" 

"I'm  having  all  sorts  of  tilings  done.  The 
doctors  give  me  medicine,  but  nothing  seems  to 
do  any  good.  I'm  really  in  despair  about  myself." 

"How  did  it  begin,  Harriet?" 

"I  don't  really  know.  There  were  so  many 
things,  and  I  didn't  put  them  together.  I  began 
having  headaches  a  great  deal;  and  then  pains 
that  the  doctors  called  neuralgia,  I  had  a  bad 
sore  throat  over  in  Europe;  I  thought  the  climate 
disagreed  with  me,  but  I've  had  it  again  at 
home.  And  now  eruptions  break  out;  the  doc 
tors  treat  them  with  things,  and  they  go  away, 
but  then  they  come  back.  All  my  hair  is  falling 
out,  and  I've  got  to  wear  a  wig." 

25 


386  SYLVIA 

"Why,  how  perfectly  horrible!"  cried  Sylvia. 

She  started  to  embrace  her  friend,  but  was 
repelled.  "I  mustn't  kiss  anyone,"  said  Harriet. 
"You  see,  it  might  be  contagious — one  can't  be 
sure." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Harriet?" 

"I've  almost  given  up  hoping.  I  haven't 
really  cared  so  much,  since  the  doctors  told  me 
I  can  never  have  another  baby.  You  know, 
Sunny,  it's  curious — I  never  cared  about  chil 
dren,  I  thought  they  were  nuisances.  But  when 
mine  came,  I  cared — oh,  so  horribly!  I  wanted 
to  have  a  real  one." 

"A  real  one?"  echoed  Sylvia. 

"Yes.  I  didn't  write  you  about  it,  and  per 
haps  I  oughtn't  to  tell  you  just  at  this  time. 
But  you  know,  Sunny,  he  didn't  seem  like  a 
human  being  at  all;  he  was  a  little  gray  mummy." 

"Harriet!" 

"Just  like  that — a  regular  skeleton,  his  skin 
all  lose,  so  that  you  could  lift  it  up  in  folds. 
He  was  a  kind  of  earthy  color,  and  had  no  hair, 
and  no  finger-nails 

Sylvia  broke  out  with  a  cry  of  horror,  and  her 
friend  stopped.  "I  haven't  talked  to  anyone 
about  it,"  she  said —  "I  guess  I  oughtn't  to, 
even  to  you." 

"How  long  did  he  live?" 

"About  six  weeks.  Nobody  knew  what  he 
died  of — he  just  seemed  to  fade  away.  You 
can't  imagine  it,  perhaps — but,  Sunny,  I  wanted 
him  to  stay — even  him!  He  was  all  I  could  ever 


SYLVIA   LOSES  387 

have,  and  it  seemed  so  cruel!"  Suddenly  the  girl 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  began  to  sob — 
the  first  time  that  Sylvia  had  ever  seen  her  do 
it  in  all  her  life. 

So  it  was  not  the  cheering  visit  that  Sylvia 
had  anticipated.  It  left  her  with  much  to  think 
about,  and  to  talk  about  with  other  people. 
Later  on,  speaking  to  Aunt  Varina,  she  happened 
to  mention  something  that  van  Tuiver  had  said 
about  the  matter;  whereupon  her  aunt  exclaimed, 
"You  didn't  talk  about  it  with  Mr.  van  Tuiver!" 

"But  why  not,  Auntie?" 

"You  mustn't  do  that,  dear!     You  can't  tell." 

"Can't  tell  what?" 

"I  mean,  dear,  that  Harriet  might  have  some 
disease  that  you  oughtn't  to  talk  to  Mr.  van 
Tuiver  about."  Aunt  Varina  hesitated,  then 
added,  in  a  whisper,  "Some  'bad  disease'." 

Whereat  Sylvia  started  in  sudden  dismay.  So 
that  was  it!  A  "bad  disease"! 

You  must  understand  how  it  happened  that 
Sylvia  had  ideas  on  this  subject.  There  was 
a  foreign  writer  of  plays,  whose  name  she  had 
heard.  She  had  never  seen  his  books,  and  would 
not  have  opened  one,  upon  peril  of  her  soul; 
but  once,  hi  a  magazine  picked  up  in  a  train, 
she  had  read  a  casual  reference  to  an  Ibsen 
play,  which  dealt  with  a  nameless  and  dreadful 
malady.  From  the  context  it  was  made  clear 
that  this  malady  was  a  price  men  paid  for  evil 
living — and  a  price  which  was  often  collected 
from  their  innocent  wives  and  children.  Now 


388  SYLVIA 

and  then  the  women  of  Sylvia's  family  spoke  in 
awe-stricken  whispers  of  this  mysterious  taint, 
using  the  phrase  "a  bad  disease."  Now,  appar 
ently,  she  was  beholding  the  horror  before  her 
eyes! 


§  25 

THE  problem  occupied  Sylvia's  mind  for  several 
days,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  It 
lent  a  new  dread  to  the  thought  of  marriage. 
How  could  a  woman  be  safe  from  such  a  thing? 
Beauregard  Dabney  was  not  the  most  perfect 
specimen  of  manhood  that  one  could  have 
selected,  but  there  was  nothing  especial  the  matter 
with  him  that  could  be  observed.  Yet  see  what 
had  happened  to  his  wife  and  child! 

Harriet  came  again,  and  this  time  her  husband 
was  with  her.  He  was  just  as  much  in  love  with 
her  as  ever — in  fact,  Sylvia  thought  that  she 
noted  a  new  and  pathetic  clinging  on  his  part. 
They  had  been  to  see  a  great  specialist,  and  still 
there  was  nothing  definite  to  be  learned  about 
the  malady;  the  doctor,  hearing  that  the  couple 
had  journeyed  up  the  Nile,  suggested  that  possibly 
it  might  be  an  African  fever,  and  promised  to 
look  up  the  mysterious  symptoms  in  his  books. 
Wasn't  it  extraordinary,  exclaimed  Harriet;  but 
Sylvia,  who  could  not  be  deceived  for  very  long, 
noticed  that  Beauregard  was  not  so  much  excited 
about  the  African  theory  as  his  wife.  Suddenly 


SYLVIA  LOSES  389 

the  thought  came  to  her,  Could  it  be  that  the 
doctors  really  knew  what  the  disease  was,  and 
would  not  tell  Harriet?  Could  it  be  that  Beaure- 
gard  knew,  and  was  helping  in  the  deception? 
Then — horror  of  horrors — could  it  be  that  he  had 
known  all  along,  and  had  upon  his  conscience  the 
crime  of  having  brought  the  woman  he  loved 
into  this  state? 

Sylvia's  relentless  mind,  once  having  got  hold 
of  this  problem,  clung  to  it  like  a  bull-dog  to  the 
throat  of  an  enemy.  Of  course  such  a  disease 
was  a  loathsome  thing;  a  woman  could  not  very 
well  ask  questions  about  it — yet,  what  was  she 
to  do?  Apparently  she  was  dependent  upon  the 
man's  honor;  and  could  it  be  that  a  man's  notion 
of  honor  permitted  him,  when  he  was  desperately 
hi  love,  to  take  such  chances  with  a  woman's 
life?  Sylvia  remembered  suddenly  that  Beaure- 
gard  had  made  love  to  her.  More  than  once  she 
had  actually  permitted  him  to  hold  and  fondle 
her  hand.  The  mere  thought  made  her  shrink 
with  horror. 

And  then  came  another  idea.  (How  quickly 
she  was  putting  things  together!)  Men  got  this 
disease  by  evil  living.  Then  Beauregard  must 
have  done  the  sort  of  thing  that  Frank  Shirley 
had  been  accused  of  doing!  Also  Jack  Colton 
had  done  the  same!  Also — had  not  Bates  said 
that  there  were  some  of  the  "Auburn  Street 
crowd"  in  that  place?  Club-men,  gentlemen,  the 
aristocracy  of  Harvard!  There  came  back  to  her 
the  phrase  from  Harley's  letter:  "one  of  the  two 


390  SYLVIA 

or  three  high-class  houses  of  prostitution  which 
are  especially  frequented  by  college  men!"  How 
much  Sylvia  knew  about  this  forbidden  subject, 
when  she  came  to  put  her  mind  to  it!  More, 
apparently,  than  her  own  parents — for  had  they 
not  shown  themselves  willing  for  her  to  fall  hi 
love  with  Beauregard  Dabney?  More,  also, 
than  Mrs.  Winthrop — for  had  not  that  lady 
implied  that  it  was  only  low  and  obscure  men 
who  permitted  themselves  such  baseness? 

As  you  may  believe,  it  was  not  long  before 
Sylvia's  thoughts  came  to  her  own  intended 
husbandv  What  had  been  his  life?  What 
might  be  the  chances  of  her  being  brought  to 
such  a  fate  as  Harriet's?  Apparently  nobody 
had  any  thought  about  it.  They  had  been  quick 
to  avail  themselves  of  the  appearance  of  evil 
on  the  part  of  Frank  Shirley;  but  what  had  they 
done  to  make  sure  that  van  Tuiver  had  been  any 
better? 

For  three  days  Sylvia  debated  this  problem; 
and  then  her  mind  was  made  up — she  would  do 
something  about  it.  She  would  talk  to  someone. 
But  to  whom? 

She  began  with  her  faithful  chaperone,  men 
tioning  the  African  fever  theory,  and  so  bringing 
up  the  subject  of  "bad  diseases."  Just  how 
much  did  Aunt  Varina  know  about  these  dis 
eases?  Not  very  much,  it  appeared.  Was 
there  any  way  to  find  out  about  them?  There 
was  no  way  that  Aunt  Varina  could  conceive — 
it  was  not  a  subject  concerning  which  a  young 
girl  ought,  to  inquire. 


SYLVIA  LOSES  391 

"But,"  protested  Sylvia,  "a  girl  has  to  marry. 
And  think  of  taking  such  chances!  Suppose,  for 
instance,  that  Mr.  van  Tuiver " 

"Ssh!"  Aunt  Varina  almost  leaped  at  her 
niece  in  her  access  of  horror.  "Sylvia!  how  can 
you  suggest  such  a  thing?" 

"But,  Auntie,  how  can  I  be  sure?" 

"You  surely  know  that  the  man  to  whom  you 
have  given  your  heart  is  a  gentleman!" 

"Yes,  Auntie,  but  then  I  knew  that  Beaure- 
gard  Dabney  was  a  gentleman — and  so  did  you. 
And  see  what  has  happened!" 

"But,  Sylvia  dear!  You  don't  know  that  it's 
that!" 

'I  very  nearly  know  it.  And  if  Beauregard 
was  willing  to  marry  when  he " 

"But  he  may  not  have  known  it,  Sylvia!" 

"Well,  don't  you  see,  Aunt  Varina?  That 
makes  it  all  the  more  serious !  If  Mr.  van  Tuiver 
himself  can  be  ignorant,  how  can  I  feel  safe?" 

"But,  Sylvia,  what  could  you  do?" 

"Why,  I  should  think  he  ought  to  go  to  some 
one  who  knows — a  doctor — and  make  sure." 

The  poor  old  lady  was  almost  speechless  with 
horror.  What  was  the  world  coming  to?  "How 
can  you  say  such  a  thing?"  she  exclaimed.  "You, 
a  pure  girl!  Who  could  suggest  such  a  thing  to 
Mr.  van  Tuiver?" 

"Couldn't  Papa  do  it?" 

"And  pray,  who  is  to  suggest  it  to  your  father? 
Surely  you  couldn't!" 

"Why  no,"  said  Sylvia,  "perhaps  not.  But 
couldn't  Mamma?" 


392  SYLVIA 

"Your  mother  would  die  first!"  And  Sylvia, 
remembering  her  "talk"  with  "Miss  Margaret," 
had  to  admit  that  this  was  probably  true. 

But  still  she  could  not  give  up  her  idea  that 
something  ought  to  be  done.  She  took  a  couple 
of  days  more  to  think,  and  then  made  up  her 
mind  to  write  to  her  Uncle  Basil.  The  family 
had  sent  him  to  talk  with  her  about  Frank's  mis 
conduct,  thus  apparently  indicating  him  as  her 
proper  adviser  hi  delicate  matters. 

So  she  wrote,  at  some  length — using  most 
carefully  veiled  language,  and  tearing  up  many 
pages  which  contained  words  she  could  not 
endure  seeing  on  paper.  But  she  made  her 
meaning  clear — that  she  thought  someone  should 
approach  her  future  husband  on  the  subject. 

Sylvia  waited  the  necessary  period  for  the 
Bishop's  reply,  and  read  it  with  trembling  fingers 
and  flaming  cheeks — although  its  language  was 
even  more  carefully  veiled  than  her  own.  The 
substance  of  it  was  that  van  Tuiver  was  a 
Christian  gentleman,  and  this  must  be  Sylvia's 
guarantee  that  he  would  not  bring  any  harm  to 
the  woman  he  so  deeply  revered.  Surely,  if 
Sylvia  respected  him  enough  to  marry  him,  she 
could  trust  him  in  a  matter  like  this!  To  ap 
proach  him  upon  it  would  be  to  offer  him  a  deadly 
insult. 

Whereupon  Sylvia  took  several  days  more  to 
worry  and  wonder.  She  was  not  satisfied  at  all, 
and  finally  summoned  her  courage  and  wrote  to 
the  Bishop  again.  It  was  not  merely  a  question 


SYLVIA  LOSES  393 

of  honor;  if  that  were  true,  she  would  have  to 
say  that  Beauregard  Dabney  was  a  scoundrel 
and  she  did  not  believe  that.  Might  it  not 
possibly  be  knowledge  that  was  lacking?  She 
begged  her  uncle  to  do  her  the  favor  of  his  life 
by  writing  to  van  Tuiver;  and  she  intimated 
further  that  if  he  would  not  do  it,  she  would  have 
to  put  the  matter  before  her  father. 

So  there  was  another  wait,  and  then  came  a 
letter  from  the  Bishop,  saying  that  he  was  writ 
ing  as  requested.  Then,  after  a  third  wait,  a 
letter  with  van  Tuiver's  reply.  He  had  taken 
the  inquiry  very  magnanimously;  he  could  under 
stand,  he  said,  how  Sylvia  had  been  upset  by  the 
sight  of  her  friend's  illness.  As  to  her  own  case, 
she  might  rest  assured  that  there  could  be  no  such 
possibility.  And  so  at  last  Sylvia's  fears  were 
allayed,  and  she  was  free  to  be  unhappy  about 
other  matters. 


§  26 

You  must  not  imagine  that  Sylvia  was  spend 
ing  these  days  in  moping;  all  her  thinking  had 
to  be  done  in  the  odd  moments  of  a  strenuous 
career.  Day  and  night  she  had  to  meet  new 
people,  and  new  people  were  always  an  irresistible 
stimulus  to  her  curiosity.  Not  all  of  them  were 
hall-boys  and  shop-clerks,  falling  instant  victims 
to  her  charms;  on  the  contrary,  they  were  Knick 
erbocker  " society" — people  not  infrequently  as 


394  SYLVIA 

wealthy  as  her  future  husband,  and  having  an 
equally  great  notion  of  their  own  importance. 
The  tidings  that  Douglas  van  Tuiver  had  picked 
up  a  country-girl  had  not  thrilled  them  with 
sympathetic  emotions.  The  details  of  the  news 
paper  romance  inspired  them  only  with  contempt. 
There  had  to  be  many  a  flash  of  Sylvia's  rapier- 
wit,  and  many  a  flash  of  Sylvia's  red-brown  eyes, 
before  these  patrician  plutocrats  had  been  brought 
to  acknowledge  her  an  equal. 

A  few  of  these  acquaintances  were  kmdiy 
people,  whom  she  could  imagine  making  into 
friends,  if  only  there  had  been  tune.  But  she 
wondered  how  anybody  ever  found  tune  for 
friendship  in  this  restless  and  expensive  and 
highly  ornamental  life.  Such  a  whirl  of  dinner 
parties  and  supper-parties,  dances  and  luncheons 
and  teas!  Such  august  and  imposing  splendor, 
such  dignified  and  even  sombre  dissipation! 
The  Major  had  provided  abundant  credit  for  this 
last  splurge;  and  van  Tuiver's  aunt  was  also 
on  hand,  conspiring  with  her  nephew  to  smother 
Sylvia  under  loads  of  gifts.  The  girl  wondered 
sometimes,  was  it  that  van  Tuiver  had  suspicions 
of  her  wavering,  and  sought  to  bind  her  by  forc 
ing  these  luxuries  upon  her?  Or  would  she  be 
expected  always  to  live  this  kind  of  Arabian 
Nights'  existence? 

There  came  old  friends,  to  bask  hi  the  sunlight 
of  her  success.  Miss  Abercrombie  came,  effulgent 
with  delight,  assured  of  a  lifetime's  prosperity  by 
this  demonstration  of  her  system.  With  her 


SYLVIA   LOSES  395 

came  Celeste,  playing  her  difficult  part  with 
bitter  pride.  Harley  Chilton  ran  down  from 
Boston,  bringing  the  tidings  that  he  had  made 
the  "Dickey"  and  saw  his  way  clear  to  the  top 
of  the  Harvard  pyramid.  Last  of  all,  two  or 
three  days  before  the  wedding  came  "  Queen 
Isabella,"  distributing  her  largess  of  blessings  to 
all  concerned. 

First  she  met  "Miss  Margaret"  and  the  Major, 
and  addressed  them  with  such  mystical  eloquence 
that  the  agitated  pair  had  not  a  dry  eye  between 
them.  After  which  she  sought  the  prospective 
bride  and  bridegroom;  and  not  even  the  most 
reverend  millionaire  bishop  who  was  to  perform 
the  ceremony  could  have  been  more  pontifical 
and  impressive  than  our  great  lady  hi  this  solemn 
hour.  We  live  in  a  cynical  world,  which  affords 
but  poor  soil  for  the  nurture  of  the  finer  flowers 
of  the  spirit.  But  Mrs.  Winthrop  was  one  really 
capable  of  experiencing  the  more  exalted  emotions, 
and  of  giving  them  ungrudging  utterance.  She 
was  thrilled  now  by  the  vistas  which  she  saw 
unfolding;  not  since  the  day  of  her  espousal  of 
the  celebrated  railroad-builder  had  the  wings  of 
the  seraphim  rustled  so  loudly  about  her  head. 
She  might  have  been  compared  to  a  creative 
artist  who  labors  for  long  in  solitude,  and  who 
at  last,  when  he  reveals  his  masterpiece,  is  startled 
by  the  clamor  of  the  world's  applause. 

"Sylvia,"  she  said,  and  put  both  her  hands 
upon  the  girl's — "Sylvia,  you  have  before  you  a 
great  career,  a  career  of  service.  You  will  be 


396  SYLVIA 

happy — I  know  you  must  be  happy,  dear,  when 
once  you  have  come  to  realize  what  an  inspira 
tion  you  are  to  others.  Such  fortune  as  yours 
falls  but  rarely  to  a  woman,  but  you  will  be 
worthy  of  it — I  believe  you  will  be  worthy  of 
everything  that  has  come  to  you." 

"I  hope  so,  Mrs.  Winthrop,"  answered  Sylvia, 
humbly. 

And  then,  as  van  Tuiver  discreetly  moved  away, 
the  other  went  on,  in  a  low  and  deeply-moved 
voice:  "Don't  imagine,  dear  girl,  that  I  fail  to 
realize  all  your  doubts  and  perplexities.  I  know 
just  how  you  feel,  for  I  had  to  go  through  with  it 
myself.  Every  woman  does — but  believe  me, 
such  tremors  are  as  nothing  compared  to  all  the 
rest  of  one's  life.  We  learn  to  subordinate  our 
personal  feelings,  our  personal  preferences.  That 
is  one  of  the  duties  of  those  who  have  greatness 
as  their  lot — who  have  to  live  what  one  might 
call  public  lives." 

Now,  Sylvia  might  have  her  doubts  as  to  the 
soundness  of  this  doctrine,  but  she  had  none 
as  to  the  genuineness  of  the  speaker's  feelings; 
so  she  was  a  trifle  shocked  when  Mrs.  Winthrop 
went  away,  and  she  discovered  that  her  future 
husband  was  laughing. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  "it's  all  right — only  when 
you  are  Mrs.  Douglas  van  Tuiver,  you  will  receive 
Isabella's  ecstasies  with  a  trifle  more  reserve. 
You  will  realize  that  she  has  her  own  axes  to 
grind." 


SYLVIA   LOSES  397 

"Axes — what  do  you  mean?" 

"Social  axes.  You'll  understand  my  world 
bye-and-bye,  Sylvia.  Isabella's  trying  to  make 
an  impression  beyond  her  income,  and  she's 
seeking  alliances.  What  you  must  remember  is 
that  the  need  is  on  her  side." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  Sylvia  sat  thinking. 
"Tell  me,"  she  said,  at  last,  "why  did  Mrs. 
Winthrop  change  so  suddenly,  and  begin  urging 
me  to  marry  you?" 

"It's  the  same  thing,"  he  answered.  "She 
couldn't  afford  to  displease  me.  When  she  found 
that  I  was  determined  to  have  my  way,  she  tried 
to  make  it  seem  her  work.  Naturally,  she'd 
want  as  much  of  the  prestige  of  this  wedding  as 
she  could  get." 

Again  Sylvia  pondered.'  "Hasn't  Mrs.  Win- 
throp's  husband  enough  money?"  she  asked. 

"He  has  enough,  but  he  won't  spend  it.  The 
tragedy  of  Isabella's  life  is  that  her  husband  is 
really  interested  in  railroads." 

"But  I  thought  he  adored  her!"  Sylvia  re 
membered  a  pathetic  stout  gentleman  she  had 
seen  wandering  about  on  the  outskirts  of  a  throng 
of  the  great  lady's  admirers. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  van  Tuiver,  with  laughter. 
"I  never  saw  a  woman  who  had  a  man  more 
completely  bluffed.  But  the  trouble  is  that  he 
offers  himself,  and  what  she  wants  is  his  money." 

There  followed  a  long  silence.  Van  Tuiver 
had  pleasant  things  to  meditate  upon;  but  sud 
denly  he  chanced  to  look  at  Sylvia,  and  exclaimed, 
"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 


398  SYLVIA 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  and  turned  away  her 
head  to  conceal  the  tears  she  had  failed  to  repress. 

"But  what  is  it?"  he  demanded,  not  without 
a  touch  of  annoyance. 

"There's  no  use  talking  about  it,"  was  Sylvia's 
reply.  "It's  just  that  you  promised  you  would 
try  not  to  think  so  much  about  money.  Some- 
tunes  I  can't  help  being  frightened,  when  I  realize 
that  you  don't  ever  believe  in  people — but  only 
in  money." 

She  saw  the  old  worried  look  come  back  to  his 
face.  "You  know  that  I  believe  hi  you!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"You  told  me,"  she  answered,  "that  the  only 
way  I  was  able  to  make  an  impression  upon  you 
was  by  refusing  to  marry  you.  And  now  I  have 
given  up  that  prestige — so  aren't  you  afraid  that 
you  may  come  to  feel  about  me  as  you  do 
about  Mrs.  Winthrop?" 


§  27 

MAJOR  and  Mrs.  Castleman  arrived  next  morn 
ing,  and  after  that  there  were  busy  tunes  for 
Sylvia.  There  was  the  wedding-gown  to  be 
shown,  and  the  trousseau  and  the  presents;  there 
were  plans  for  the  future  to  be  told  of,  and  many 
blessings  to  be  received.  "Miss  Margaret"  was 
in  a  "state"  most  of  the  time — tears  of  joy  and 
tears  of  sorrow  pursuing  each  other  down  her 


SYLVIA  LOSES  399 

generous  cheeks.  " Sylvia,"  she  exclaimed,  in  one 
breath,  "I  know  you  will  be  happy!"  And  then, 
in  the  next  breath,  "Sylvia,  I  hope  you  will  be 
happy!"  And  then,  in  a  third  breath,  "Sylvia, 
how  will  we  ever  get  on  without  you?  Who 
will  dare  to  spank  the  baby?" 

It  was  with  her  father  that  she  had  the  really 
trying  ordeal;  her  father  took  her  into  a  room 
alone,  and  held  her  hands  in  his  and  tried  to 
read  her  soul.  "Tell  me,  my  child,  are  you 
going  to  be  happy?" 

"I  think  so,  Papa,"  she  answered;  and  had  to 
make  herself  look  into  his  eyes. 

"I  want  you  to  understand  me,  dear  Sylvia — 
even  now,  at  this  last  hour,  don't  take  the  step 
unless  you  believe  with  your  best  judgment  that 
you  will  be  happy." 

There  was  a  moment  of  madness,  when  she 
had  the  impulse  to  fling  herself  into  his  arms  and 
cry,  "I  love  Frank  Shirley!"  But  instead  of  that 
she  hurried  on,  "I  believe  he  loves  me  deeply, 
Papa." 

Said  the  Major,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "There 
is  no  more  solemn  moment  in  a  father's  life  than 
when  he  sees  his  dearly  loved  daughter  taking 
this  irrevocable  step.  I  want  you  to  know,  my 
darling,  that  I  have  prayed  earnestly,  I  have  done 
my  best  to  judge  what  is  right  for  you." 

"Yes,  Papa,"  she  said,  "I  know  that." 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  if  ever  I  have  seemed 
to  be  stern,  it  has  been  because  I  believed  my 
daughter's  welfare  required  it." 


400  SYLVIA 

"Yes,  Papa,"  she  said,  again. 

"I  am  sure,  this  man  loves  you,  Sylvia;  and 
I  believe  he's  a  good  man — he  ought  to  make 
you  happy.  But  I  want  you  to  know  that  if 
by  any  chance  my  prayers  are  denied — if  you 
find  that  you  are  not  happy — then  your  father's 
home  will  always  be  open  to  you,  his  arms  will 
always  be  stretched  wide  to  clasp  you." 

"Dear  old  Daddy!"  whispered  the  girl.  She 
felt  the  arms  about  her  now,  and  she  began  to 
sob  softly,  with  a  mixture  of  emotions.  Oh,  if 
only  she  might  stay  for  the  balance  of  her  life 
in  the  shelter  of  those  arms,  that  were  so  strong 
and  so  dependable!  If  only  there  were  not  the 
dreadful  thing  called  marriage — which  drove  her 
out  into  another  pair  of  arms,  from  which  she 
shrunk  with  such  unconquerable  aversion! 

This  was  the  heart  of  her  difficulty  —  her 
inability  to  conquer  her  physical  shrinking  from 
the  man  to  whom  she  was  betrothed.  Here 
she  was,  upon  the  very  eve  of  her  wedding,  and 
she  had  made  no  progress  whatever.  Mentally 
and  spiritually  she  had  probed  him,  and  felt 
that  she  knew  him  intimately;  but  physically  he 
was  still  an  utter  stranger  to  her — as  much  so 
as  any  man  she  might  have  met  upon  the  street. 
She  would  sit  talking  with  him,  trying  to  forget 
herself  and  her  fears  for  a  while;  and  gradually 
she  would  be  conscious  of  his  gaze  upon  her,  his 
eyes  traveling  over  her  form,  devouring  her  in 
thought,  longing  for  her.  Then  she  would  go 
almost  beside  herself — she  would  have  to  spring 


SYLVIA   LOSES  401 

up  and  break  the  chain  of  his  thoughts.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  was  like  the  prey  of  some 
wild  beast — or  a  beast  that  was  just  tame 
enough  to  wait  patiently,  knowing  that  at  a 
certain  time  the  prey  would  be  in  its  grasp. 

On  the  evening  before  the  wedding  van  Tuiver 
was  to  attend  a  "stag-dinner"  with  his  friends; 
but  he  called  in  to  see  her  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
the  family  discreetly  left  them  alone.  In  a  sud 
den  access  of  longing,  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms, 
and  she  forced  herself  to  submit.  Then  he  began 
to  kiss  her,  to  press  passionate  kisses  upon  her 
cheek  and  throat.  His  breath  was  hot,  and 
utterly  horrible  to  her;  she  could  not  endure  it, 
and  cried  out  to  him  to  stop,  and  struggled  and 
pushed  him  away.  Still  holding  her,  and  gazing 
at  her  with  desire  blazing  in  his  eyes,  he  whis 
pered,  "Not  yet?" 

"Oh,  how  could  you?"  she  cried. 

"Is  it  not  time  you  were  beginning  to  learn?" 
he  demanded;  and  then,  wholly  beside  himself, 
"Sylvia,  how  much  longer  am  I  to  endure  this? 
Can't  you  understand  what  you  make  me  suffer? 
I  love  you — I  love  you  to  distraction,  and  I  get 
nothing  from  you — nothing!  I  dare  not  even  tell 
you  that  I  love  you!" 

The  passion  in  his  voice  made  her  shudder; 
and  yet,  too,  she  pitied  him.  She  was  ashamed 
of  herself  for  the  way  she  treated  him.  "What 
can  I  do?"  she  cried.  "I  can't  help  it — as  God 
is  my  witness,  I  can't  control  my  feelings.  I  ask 
myself,  ought  I  to  marry  you  so?" 


402  SYLVIA 

"It  seems  to  me  it's  rather  late  to  bring  up  that 
question,"  he  responded. 

"I  know,  I  know!  I  have  nothing  to  say  for 
myself — except  that  I  didn't  know,  I  couldn't 
realize.  It's  something  I  must  tell  you — how 
I  have  come  to  feel — that  I  ought  not  to  marry 
you,  that  you  ought  not  to  want  me  to  marry 
you,  while  things  are  like  this.  You  must  know 
this,  so  that  if  I  marry  you,  the  responsibility  will 
be  yours!" 

"And  you  think  that  is  fair  of  you?"  he  de 
manded,  his  voice  grown  suddenly  hard. 

He  meant  to  rebuke  her,  and  she  felt  that  he 
had  a  right  to  rebuke  her;  but  the  wave  of  emo 
tion  which  swept  her  along  was  not  to  jbe 
controlled  by  her  reason.  "Oh,  you  are  going  to 
be  angry  about  it!"  she  cried.  "How  horrible 
of  you!" 

He  exclaimed,  "Sylvia!  Can  you  expect  me  not 
to  be  hurt?" 

"I  told  you  that  I  couldn't  help  it!  I  told 
you  in  the  very  beginning  that  you  would  have 
to  take  me  as  I  was,  and  be  satisfied  if  I  did  my 
best!  I  told  you  that  again  and  again — that 
I  loved  another  man,  that  I  love  him  still " 

She  stopped.  A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  his 
face — followed  by  a  look  of  fear.  He  hesitated, 
and  then,  his  voice  low  and  trembling,  he  began, 
"Sylvia,  forgive  me.  I  know  that  you  are  right 
— that  you  are  trying  to  do  your  best.  I  will  be 
patient.  You  must  be  patient  with  me  also." 

She  stood,  her  head  bowed,  ashamed  of  what 


she  had  said.  Yet — she  felt  that  he  ought  to 
have  heard  it.  "I  hate  to  seem  unfair,"  she 
whispered,  her  voice  almost  breaking.  "I  don't 
want  to  give  you  pain,  but  I  can't  help  these 
feelings,  and  I  know  it's  my  duty  to  tell  you  of 
them.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  go  on — I  should 
think  you  would  be  afraid  to  marry  me!" 

For  answer  he  caught  her  hands,  exclaiming, 
"I  will  take  my  chances!  I  love  you,  and  I  will 
never  rest  until  you  love  me!" 


§  28 

So  far  I  have  put  together  this  story  from  the 
memories  of  Sylvia  and  Frank  Shirley.  But 
now  I  have  come  to  the  point  where  you  may 
watch  the  events  through  my  own  eyes.  I  will 
take  a  paragraph  or  two  to  give  you  an  idea  of 
the  quality  of  these  eyes,  and  then  proceed  with 
out  further  delay. 

Mary  Abbott,  the  teller  of  this  tale,  was  at  the 
age  of  forty  a  crude  farmer's  wife  upon  a  lonely 
pioneer  homestead  in  Manitoba.  In  winter  hi 
that  part  of  the  world  it  begins  to  grow  dark  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  it  is  not  fully 
light  until  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  We  were 
a  mile  from  the  nearest  neighbor,  and  had  often 
three  feet  of  snow  upon  the  ground,  with  fifty 
degrees  below  zero  and  a  sweeping  wind.  I  had 
a  husband  whom  I  feared  and  despised,  and  for 


404  SYLVIA 

whom  I  cooked  and  washed  and  sewed,  whether 
I  was  well  or  ill.  Under  these  circumstances 
I  had  raised  three  children  to  maturity.  I  had 
moved  to  town  and  seen  them  through  high- 
school;  and  now,  the  girl  being  married,  and  the 
two  boys  in  college,  I  found  myself  suddenly  free 
to  see  the  world. 

You  must  not  think  of  me  as  altogether  ignorant. 
I  had  fought  desperately  for  books,  and  had 
grown  up  with  my  children.  Discovering  in  the 
town  the  perpetual  miracle  of  a  circulating 
library,  I  had  read  wildly,  acquiring  a  strange 
assortment  of  new  ideas.  But  that,  I  am  ashamed 
to  say,  made  very  little  difference  when  I  reached 
the  East.  It  is  one  thing  to  read  up  in  the  theory 
of  Socialism,  and  say  that  you  have  freed  your 
self  from  bourgeois  ideals;  it  is  quite  another  to 
come  from  a  raw  pioneer  community,  and  be 
suddenly  hit  between  the  eyes  by  all  the  marvels 
of  the  great  New  Nineveh! 

I  forgot  my  principles;  I  wandered  about, 
breathless  with  excitement.  Everything  that  I 
had  ever  read  about,  in  Sunday  supplements  and 
cheap  magazines — here  it  was  before  my  eyes! 
I  got  myself  a  hall-room  in  a  "Greenwich  Village" 
boarding-house,  and  for  days  I  went,  thrusting 
my  inquisitive  country  face  into  everything  that 
was  cheap  enough.  The  huge  shops  with  their 
amazing  treasures  of  silks  and  jewels;  the  great 
hotels  with  their  gold  and  stucco  splendors;  the 
dizzy,  tower-like  office-buildings;  the  newspaper 
offices  with  their  whirling  presses;  the  theatres, 


SYLVIA   LOSES  405 

the  museums,  the  parks;  the  Brooklyn  Bridge 
and  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  Grant's  Tomb  and  the 
Bowery— I  was  the  very  soul  of  that  thing  which 
the  New  Yorker  derisively  calls  the  "  rubber-neck 
wagon!"  I  took  my  place  in  one  of  these  mov 
ing  grand-stands,  and  listened  to  all  that  came  out 
of  the  megaphone.  Here  was  the  home  of  the 
steel-king,  which  had  cost  three  millions  of  dol 
lars!  Here  was  the  home  where  a  fifty  thousand 
dollar  chef  was  employed!  Here  was  the  old 
van  Tuiver  mansion,  where  the  millionaire-baby 
had  been  brought  up!  Here  was  the  Palace 
Hotel,  where  Miss  Sylvia  Castleman  was  staying! 

It  was  the  day  before  the  wedding;  and  I,  like 
all  the  rest  of  the  city,  was  thrilling  over  the 
Romance,  knowing  more  about  the  preparations 
than  the  bride  herself.  I  had  read  all  the  papers 
— morning  papers  and  afternoon  papers;  I  had 
read  descriptions  of  the  wedding-gown,  the  trous 
seau,  the  rooms  full  of  gift-treasures  with  detec 
tives  on  guard.  I  had  stared  at  the  outside  of 
the  church,  and  imagined  the  inside.  Last  of 
all,  I  had  wandered  up  to  the  Palace  Hotel  and 
peered  about  in  the  lobby,  amusing  myself  by 
imagining  that  each  gorgeous  female  creature 
who  floated  by  and  disappeared  into  a  motor 
car  might  possibly  be  the  Princess  herself! 

At  the  boarding-house  we  discussed  the  pos 
sibility  of  seeing  the  wedding-cortege,  and  every 
body  said  that  I  could  not  come  within  a  block 
of  the  church.  "I'll  fight  my  way,"  I  declared; 
to  which  the  reply  was  that  I  would  find  out  some- 


406  SYLVIA 

thing  about  New  York  policemen  that  would  cure 
me  of  my  fighting  impulses.  The  result  of  the 
discussion  was  that  I  set  out  immediately  after 
breakfast,  fired  with  the  spirit  of  the  discoverers 
of  Pike's  Peak. 

I  must  get  at  least  a  glimpse,  I  told  myself. 
What  a  tale  to  be  able  to  tell  at  the  Women's 
Club  receptions  at  home!  To  say:  "I  saw  her! 
She  was  the  loveliest  thing!  And  oh,  her  dress! 
It  was  cream-white  satin,  with  four  graduated 
flounces  of  exquisite  point-lace!"  Of  course 
I  could  have  got  all  that  from  the  newspapers; 
but  I  wanted  to  be  able  to  say  it  truly. 

The  wedding-hour  was  noon,  but  at  nine  there 
was  already  a  respectable  crowd.  I  established 
myself  upon  the  steps  of  a  nearby  house,  with 
a  newspaper  to  sit  on  and  a  pair  of  borrowed 
opera-glasses  in  my  hand-bag.  In  the  meantime 
I  entertained  myself  talking  with  the  other 
watchers,  who  were  a  new  type  to  me,  well- 
dressed  women,  kept  in  luxury,  whether  legal  or 
otherwise,  who  fed  their  empty  minds  upon 
fashion  sheets  and  "society  notes,"  and  had  no 
idea  ha  the  world  beyond  the  decking  of  their 
persons  and  the  playing  of  their  little  part  in 
the  great  game  of  Splurge.  We  talked  about  the 
van  Tuiver  family,  its  history  and  its  present 
status;  we  talked  with  awe  about  the  bride; 
we  talked  about  the  presents,  the  decorations,  the 
costumes — there  was  so  much  to  talk  about! 

Shortly  after  ten  o'clock  a  calamity  befell  us— 
the  police  began  to  clear  the  steps,  driving  the 


SYLVIA   LOSES  407 

crowd  far  back  from  the  church-entrance.  What 
agonies,  what  expostulations!  How  outrageous 
— when  we  had  waited  there  an  hour  already! 
Sometimes  the  steps  were  our  own  steps,  some 
times  they  were  the  steps  of  friends;  but  even 
that  made  no  difference.  "I'm  sorry,  lady,  the 
orders  are  to  clear  everything."  They  were  as 
gentle  about  it  as  they  could  be,  but  that  was 
none  too  gentle;  we  had  the  butt-ends  of  clubs, 
pressing  into  our  stomachs,  and  back  we  went, 
arguing,  scolding,  threatening,  sometimes  weeping 
or  fainting. 

I  was  tremendously  disappointed.  To  have 
to  go  back  to  the  boarding-house,  and  admit 
defeat  to  the  milliner's  assistant  who  sat  next 
to  me  at  meals!  To  hear  "I  told  you  so"  from 
the  "floor-walker"  who  sat  across  the  way! 
"I  won't  do  it!"  I  said  to  myself. 

And  then  suddenly  came  my  chance.  Behind 
me  there  was  a  commotion,  angry  protests — 
"Officer,  let  us  through  here!  We  have  cards!" 
Cards — how  our  souls  thrilled  as  we  heard  the 
word!  Here,  right  close  to  us,  were  some  of  the 
chosen  ones!  Let  us  see  them  at  least — a  bit  of 
Royalty  at  second  hand! 

They  pushed  their  way  through — three  women 
and  two  men.  As  they  neared  me,  I  saw  the 
engraved  invitations  in  their  hands,  and  it  flashed 
over  me  that  in  my  hand-bag  was  a  milliner's 
advertisement  of  nearly  the  same  size  and  shape. 
I  dived  in,  and  fished  it  out  with  trembling  fingers, 
and  fell  in  behind  the  party,  and  pushed  through 


408  SYLVIA 

the  crowd  past  the  line  of  police.     There  before 
me  was  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  church! 

I  had  acted  on  impulse,  with  no  idea  what  to 
do  next.  I  could  scarcely  hope  to  get  in  to  the 
wedding  on  a  milliner's  card.  But  fortunately 
my  problem  solved  itself,  for  there  were  always 
the  guests  pushing  into  the  entrance,  and  every 
body  was  perfectly  willing  to  push  ahead  of  me. 
All  I  had  to  do  was  to  "mark  time,"  and  I  was 
free  to  stay,  inhaling  delicious  perfumes  and 
feasting  my  ears  upon  scraps  of  the  conversation 
of  the  Mite.  I  foresaw  that  the  banner  of  the 
great  Northwest  would  wave  triumphantly  in 
" Greenwich  Village"  that  night! 


§  29 

I  WILL  not  stop  to  detail  the  separate  thrills  of 
this  adventure.  Carriage  after  carriage,  motor 
after  motor  drew  up,  and  released  new  revelations 
of  grace  and  elegance.  The  time  for  the  cere 
mony  drew  near,  and  from  the  stir  in  the  throng 
about  me  I  knew  that  the  guests  from  the  wedding- 
breakfast  were  passing.  How  I  longed  to  talk  to 
someone — to  ask  who  was  this  and  that  and  the 
other  one!  Then  I  might  have  been  able  to  tell 
you  how  "Miss  Margaret"  wept,  and  how  Aunt 
Varina  trembled,  and  what  "Queen  Isabella"  was 
wearing!  But  the  only  persons  I  could  be  sure 
of  were  the  five  lovely  bridesmaids,  and  the  bride, 


SYLVIA   LOSES  409 

leaning  upon  the  arm  of  a  stately  old  white- 
haired  gentleman.  How  we  craned  our  necks, 
and  what  rapture  transported  us!  We  heard  the 
thunder  of  the  organ  and  the  orchestra  within, 
and  it  corresponded  to  the  state  of  our  souls. 

There  was  still  quite  a  throng  at  either  side 
of  the  entrance — newspaper  reporters,  people  who 
had  come  out  of  houses  nearby,  people  who,  like 
myself,  had  got  by  the  police-lines  upon  one 
pretext  or  another.  Down  the  street  we  could 
see  a  solid  line  of  bluecoats,  and  behind  them 
people  crowded  upon  steps,  leaning  out  of  win 
dows,  clinging  to  railings  and  lamp-posts.  We 
were  in  fear  lest  at  any  tune  we  might  be  ordered 
to  join  this  throng,  so  we  stayed  silent  and  very 
decorous,  careful  not  to  crowd  or  to  make  our 
selves  conspicuous. 

You  might  have  expected,  perhaps,  that  when 
all  the  protagonists  of  the  drama  had  entered  the 
church,  the  crowd  would  have  dispersed;  but  not 
a  soul  went.  We  stood,  listening  to  the  fault 
music,  and  imagining  the  glories  that  were  hid 
from  our  eyes.  We  pictured  the  procession  up 
the  aisle,  with  the  guests  standing  on  the  seats 
in  order  to  get  a  glimpse  of  it.  We  pictured  the 
sacred  ceremony.  (There  were  some  who  had 
prayer-books  in  their  hands,  the  better  to  aid 
their  imaginations.)  We  pictured  the  bride, 
kneeling  upon  a  white  silk  cushion  embroidered 
with  gold,  receiving  the  blessings  of  the  million 
aire  bishop.  We  heard  the  wild  burst  of  chimes 
which  told  us  that  the  two  were  made  one,  and 
our  pulses  leaped  with  excitement. 


410  SYLVIA 

All  this  took  perhaps  half  an  hour;  and  I  think 
that  about  half  that  time  had  passed  when  I 
first  noticed  Claire.  I  never  knew  how  she  got 
there;  but  fate,  or  providence,  or  what  you  will, 
had  set  her  next  to  me,  and  that  strange  intuition 
which  sometimes  comes  to  me,  and  puts  me 
inside  the  soul  of  another  person  in  less  tune 
than  it  takes  for  my  eye  to  look  them  over,  gave 
me  the  warning  of  danger  from  her  presence. 

She  was  a  tall  and  striking  woman,  beautifully 
gowned,  with  high  color  and  bold  black  eyes — 
a  woman  you  would  have  noticed  in  any  gather 
ing.  You  would  have  thought  at  once  that  she 
was  a  foreigner,  but  you  might  have  been  puzzled 
as  to  her  country,  for  she  had  none  of  the  char 
acteristic  French  traits,  and  her  English  was 
quite  perfect.  I  glanced  at  her  once,  and  there 
after  I  forgot  everything  else — the  crowd,  the 
ceremony,  all.  What  was  the  matter  with  this 
woman? 

What  first  made  me  turn  was  a  quick  motion, 
as  of  a  nervous  spasm.  Then  I  saw  that  her  hands 
were  clenched  tightly,  and  drawn  up  in  front  of 
her  as  if  she  were  struggling  with  someone. 
Her  lips  were  moving,  yet  I  heard  no  sound;  she 
was  staring  in  front  of  her  fixedly,  but  at  nothing. 

I  must  explain  that  it  did  not  occur  to  me 
that  she  had  been  drinking.  My  country 
imagination  was  not  equal  to  that  flight.  To 
be  sure,  since  my  arrival  I  had  learned  that  the 
women  of  the  New  Nineveh  did  drink;  I  had 
peered  into  the  " orange  room,"  and  the  "palm 


SYLVIA  LOSES  411 

and  several  other  strange  rooms,  and  had 
seen  gorgeous  peacock-creatures  with  little  glasses 
of  highly-colored  liquids  before  them.  But  I  had 
not  got  so  far  as  to  imagine  any  consequences; 
I  had  never  thought  of  connecting  the  high  color 
in  women's  cheeks,  the  sparkle  in  women's  eyes, 
the  animation  of  women's  chatter  with  the  little 
glasses  of  highly-colored  liquids.  They  had  so 
many  other  reasons  for  being  animated,  these 
fortunate,  victorious  ones! 

No,  I  only  knew  that  this  woman  was  excited; 
and  I  began  forthwith  to  imagine  most  desperate 
and  romantic  things.  You  must  remember  what 
I  said  when  I  was  first  telling  about  Sylvia — that 
my  ideas  of  the  grand  monde  had  been  derived 
from  cheap  fiction  in  "Farm"  and  "Home"  and 
"Fireside"  publications.  You  all  know  the  old 
story  of  the  beautiful  heroine  who  marries  the 
dissolute  duke;  how  the  duke's  cast-off  mistress 
attends  the  wedding,  and  does  something  melo 
dramatic  and  thrilling — perhaps  shoots  at  the 
duke,  perhaps  throws  vitriol  at  the  bride,  perhaps 
hands  her  a  letter  which  is  worse  than  vitriol  to 
her  innocent  young  soul.  I  smile  when  I  think 
how  instantly  I  understood  this  situation,  and 
with  what  desperate  seriousness  I  made  ready 
to  play  my  part — watching  the  woman  like  a 
cat,  ready  to  spring  and  seize  her  at  the  first 
hostile  move.  And  yet,  after  all,  it  was  no  joke, 
for  Claire  was  really  quite  capable  of  a  murderous 
impulse  when  she  was  in  her  present  condition. 

Other  people  had  begun  to  notice  her  peculiar 


412  SYLVIA 

behavior;  I  saw  one  or  two  women  edging  away 
from  her,  but  I  stayed  all  the  closer.  The  time 
came  when  we  heard  the  music  of  the  Mendels 
sohn  March,  and  the  excitement  in  the  crowd 
told  us  what  was  coming.  Suddenly  the  doors 
of  the  church  swung  open — and  there,  in  her 
radiant  loveliness — the  bride! 

Her  veil  was  thrown  back,  but  her  eyes  were 
cast  down,  and  she  clung  to  the  arm  of  her  hus 
band.  Oh,  what  a  vision  she  was,  and  what  a 
thrill  went  about!  For  myself,  however,  I 
scarcely  saw  her.  My  eyes  were  on  the  strange 
woman. 

She  looked  like  a  mad  creature;  quivering  in 
every  nerve,  her  fingers  twisting  and  untwisting 
themselves  like  writhing  snakes.  She  had 
crouched,  as  if  ready  to  spring;  and  I  had  my 
hands  within  a  foot  of  hers,  ready  to  stop  her. 
The  procession  moved  through  the  passage  kept 
clear  by  the  police,  and  I  literally  held  my 
breath  while  they  passed — held  it  until  the  bride 
had  stepped  into  a  limousine,  and  the  bridegroom 
had  followed,  and  the  door  had  slammed.  Then 
suddenly  the  strange  woman  drew  herself  up  and 
turned  upon  me,  her  face  glaring  into  mine. 
I  saw  her  wild  eyes — and  also  I  got  a  whiff  of  her 
breath.  She  laughed,  a  hysterical,  hateful  laugh, 
and  muttered:  "She'll  pay  for  what  she  gets!" 

I  whispered  "Hush!"  But  the  woman  cried 
again,  so  that  several  people  heard  her:  "She'll 
pay  for  everything  she  gets  from  him!"  She 
added  a  phrase  in  French,  the  meaning  and  im- 


SYLVIA   LOSES  41S 

port  of  which  I  learned  to  understand  long  after 
wards — "Le  cadeau  de  noce  que  la  maitresse 
laisse  dans  la  corbeilk  de  la  jeune  fille!"  Then 
suddenly  I  saw  her  sway,  and  I  caught  her  and 
steadied  her,  as  I  know  how  to  steady  people 
with  my  big  strong  arms. 

And  that,  reader,  was  the  strange  way  of  my 
coming  into  the  life  of  Sylvia  Castleman! 


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